Something and Nothing at All (The Difficulty With Definitions)
by gethsemane342
Summary: 'Elsa has always said she doesn't think she can have children. She's said a few other things as well that makes him think she doesn't want to try. Still, he sometimes looks at her and sees … something in her eyes. A question, maybe. Or perhaps something more wistful.' Short story regarding a never, a pregnancy and what came after.
1. Fear (And the Places it Creeps Up)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Frozen_. **

**Rating:** for implied adult themes and mentions of death.

 **Author disclaimer** : _This story contains some discussion of religion and faith, primarily because I think Arendelle is a Christian country. I'm not saying what (if any) religion I am but please be aware that views expressed in a fic aren't necessarily mine - sometimes, they just fit the story._

 **A/n:** This is a story for _Frozenmyheart_ who sent me a message a couple of months ago and asked if I could write something that continued my two other fics, _Ask Me Anything_ and _You Want This to be a Love Story_? I'm not a big sequel writer so while this story is set in that timeline, you should be able to follow it if you haven't read those fics. In theory. Let me know if it's not readable as that means I need to edit it some more (you would not believe how many times I've read over this piece so I _really_ hope it's readable). The story is split into three chapters (to those who are familiar with my Frozen chaptered stories: yes, this was intended to be a oneshot. No, that didn't work out) and I'll aim to update every 1-3 days. Hope you enjoy and happy Summer solstice to you!

Something and Nothing at All (The Difficulty With Definitions)

1) Fear (And the Places it Creeps Up)

When she meets Nikolas, she stares at him with her mouth half open and her hands shaking. She can feel Kristoff's concern as he stands nearby, watching somewhat tensely, and that isn't helping in the slightest. Her own husband reaches a hand for her but she stuffs hers behind her back, trying not to look at the hurt in his eyes.

"It's alright, Elsa," Anna says for possibly the sixth or seventh time. "You'll be fine."

It's not fine though. She knows it's not fine. She'll hold Anna's son and then the frost will start and-

"Elsa, snap out of it. C'mon, you can do this. I trust you."

She looks at Anna, whose eyes are wide with concern. Concern for Elsa, rather than what Elsa might do – no matter what happens to Anna, she retains an almost ironclad faith in the good of life. When Elsa glances at Kristoff, he smiles slightly. Her husband nods encouragingly.

She forces herself to take a step forwards and remove her hands from behind her back. She has to do this. She will _not_ be scared. If she doesn't hold her own nephew, Anna will never forgive her. Besides, she hasn't accidentally frozen something (completely) for months. Although maybe that means she's due to freeze something so-

"There you go," Anna says, thrusting Nikolas into her arms. Elsa squeaks; she thinks everyone would laugh if she weren't so obviously distressed. But then she looks down and sees a small face looking up at her. As she stares, drinking in every detail, she knows that she doesn't need to look to know that Anna and Kristoff are smiling.

* * *

She can feel his gaze as she lies on the bed, eyes fixed determinedly on the ceiling. He knows she's not asleep because they've been married for long enough – and each had enough sleepless nights – to know how the other sounds when they sleep.

She glances at him from the corners of her eyes before closing them. Four years they've been married (nearly five since the Great Thaw), and she still doesn't know exactly what they are. Theirs was a marriage that originated from politics and necessity rather than love, but she suspects that they wouldn't have gone through with it if there hadn't been … something. If only she knew for sure what that was.

"You might as well say it, David," she says, her eyes still closed. "I was being stupid, wasn't I?"

"Stupid wasn't the word I was thinking now," he says in his lilting voice, his Burakoemin accent as strong as ever. "Self-deprecating sounded more like it." Even though she can't see him, she knows he's smiling a small smile.

"I could have killed Anna's son."

"Let's be honest, so could Anna. She's not exactly graceful, mind." He waits. When she doesn't respond, he says, "Isn't this the part where you're supposed to tell me off and chuck a pen at me?"

She opens her eyes and sits up. He's sitting as well and even through the concern on his face, she can see the spark of humour that's often in his brown eyes. "Can't you take this seriously?"

"No?"

"You're as bad as Anna."

"You did say we should spend more time around each other." She swings her pillow at him. He ducks, laughing, and that makes her laugh. Once their laughter subsides, he shifts over to put a skinny arm around her shoulder. "It was fine anyway. You held him."

"Only because Anna shoved him at me."

"That's probably something the lad will get used to. Poor little guy."

There's something in his tone and it matches what she saw when he held Nikolas, just hours ago. It's been there in other discussions too. A kind of wistfulness, maybe. A kind of curiosity. Resignation. She doesn't want to address it. Not right now. Maybe when she's less tired, or in a better mood or when it's a Tuesday or … or something.

So, instead, she says, "You can play with him tomorrow. Make up for the rest of his life."

David smiles and agrees, but the something in his tone is still there.

* * *

They're standing together by the wall of the nursery, watching Kristoff and David play with Nikolas. The little boy is still too young to know what's going on but Kristoff and David, at least, seem to be enjoying themselves.

"I rarely see Kristoff acting this goofily," Elsa remarks.

Anna looks at him. He's pulling faces and making silly voices, in a (slightly creepily) similar way to the way he talks to Sven.

"You have to catch him in the right mood," Anna says, deciding to omit the part about probably also needing to be a reindeer. "I think David's the weirder one. He's always so quiet."

"David often acts silly. He just clams up a lot. You'd know that if you stopped intimidating him."

Anna doesn't mean to intimidate David – in fact, she likes him and thinks he might actually be good for Elsa – but she is still against the marriage on the principle of the thing. She has to admit, if Elsa hadn't told her, she wouldn't know that David was scared of her. He always seems to take everything on the chin.

Anna shrugs. "He's not _that_ scared of me. I think." She hesitates but it feels like the perfect opportunity to ask the question she's wanted to ask for the last few days, so she says, "So are you and he…"

After a few seconds of silence, Elsa says, "You're going to have to give me more context than that."

She suddenly feels shy. In the five years since the Great Thaw, she and Elsa have made leaps and bounds in repairing their relationship, but they're still not as comfortable around each other as they were when they were children. She suspects they never will be.

Still, she's determined to finish this so she says, "Planning children?"

Elsa hesitates. They've had this conversation before but Elsa always, _always_ hesitates.

"Not at the moment."

Anna looks at her. "Have you two even _talked_ about it?"

"Anna, not everyone wants children."

"That wasn't an answer."

Years ago – just a few weeks after the Great Thaw – Elsa promised that if Anna ever asked her a question, she would answer it truthfully. Anna has not forgotten that promise and she knows that Elsa hasn't either.

Elsa hesitates again. "Not really," she says quietly. "Sometimes, I think David wants to but … it's a bad idea, I think. Besides, I doubt people like me can _have_ children. I mean, have you ever heard of a story where the ice witch has a son or daughter? There must be a reason for it."

"You're basing that on fairy stories, Elsa. I don't understand what you're so afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," Elsa says instantly.

"OK," Anna says, not wanting to get into this, "but I don't understand why it would be a bad idea. I mean, you handle Olaf fine and he's _basically_ your child."

"Olaf's easy. Olaf just needs to be entertained and loved and more-or-less looks after himself." Elsa looks down. "I just … Anna, it's… I mean, children take after their parents and I…"

"If this is gonna be gloomy, I'm gonna lecture you."

"You'd lose concentration about halfway through."

"True but that doesn't mean the first half wouldn't b- stop trying to distract me!" Elsa laughs and Anna smiles. "Seriously, Elsa. I know you're nervous but I just think … I just think you shouldn't decide _not_ to have children without thinking about how your kid would probably be really nice and smart and funny and … and, I dunno, fluent in ten languages and-"

"Ten? David and I speak about three between us. Olaf, for the record, can only speak one. Where do the other seven come from?"

"Your kid would be a genius. They'd get it from, like, osmosis or something."

"I don't know what's weirder: the fact that you know the word osmosis despite not paying attention in any of your lessons when you were a kid, or the fact that you think someone can learn ten languages by osmosis in _Arendelle_ , one of the _smaller_ countries in the world."

"Hey, I didn't sleep in _all_ of my lessons. Besides, you married a Burakoemin prince so we're practically cosmopolitan. As long as you ignore the fact that almost nobody knows where Burakoem is or what they do there, apart from something to do with sheep." Anna looks at her older sister. It's funny. When they were growing up, there had always been something … _cold_ about Elsa. Some kind of barrier between her and the rest of the world. These days, Anna looks at Elsa and she can barely feel that barrier. These days, Elsa seems mostly … happy. "Elsa, I just don't want you not to..."

A hand lightly touches her shoulder. "I know, Anna. I am thinking about it, OK?"

It's not but Anna says, "OK."

* * *

Anna and Kristoff visit often over the next couple of years, always bringing Nikolas with them. Despite his young age, David can already see that Nikolas will have Anna's slim stature but Kristoff's hair and eyes; that he has more of Kristoff's quiet personality than Anna's ball of energy; but that he is as open and loving as his mother. He's a complete mix of his parents.

He mentions that to Elsa once. A slightly freaked-out expression crosses her face but then she nods, as though he has confirmed something to her.

Despite that reaction, whenever Nikolas is around, Elsa always devotes herself to her nephew, often playing with him long past any normal adult's tolerance level. David likes to spoil Nikolas as well. He knows they're only related through marriage but he adores his nephew.

Elsa has always said she doesn't think she can have children. She's said a few other things as well that makes him think she doesn't want to try. He's not sure what his reaction to that should be but he doubts he can bring the topic up without accidentally pressuring her. He doesn't want to pressure her that way. Not when she already feels pressured to sleep with him, despite his saying that he doesn't mind if they don't (he does mind, and they both know he minds, but pressuring her into doing it always seems worse to his mind than doing it). It's better if he just remains silent. It always is.

Still, when Elsa plays with Nikolas or even Olaf, he sometimes looks at her and sees … something in her eyes. A question, maybe. Or perhaps something more wistful. And at these moments, he wonders whether maybe he's wrong, and she _does_ want children.

He can almost imagine it. They would have a little girl with Elsa's hair and eyes, but his singing voice; or a little boy with his brown hair, and her eyes (he thinks her eyes are better than his so in no scenario in his imagination (even the highly improbable – and not particularly desirable – one where they have twenty-three children) do the imaginary children have his eyes) and maybe even her powers.

But there. Maybe his marriage to Elsa has been an exercise in getting to know her but he always thinks of her as being a bit like ice – unyielding, when she wants to be. As Burakoem is mainly known for its abundance of rain and sheep, he's quite sure he won't convince her otherwise. Rain and sheep aren't known for their heat or shattering properties.

(Burakoem is also known for being a fighting nation, but he's never been any good at that. There's a reason his father sent him, and not one of his older brothers, to marry the Queen of Arendelle all those years ago.)

* * *

She catches that _something_ she saw in David's expression more often these days. Another something she can't define. One day, she thinks, she might make a list of all of the emotions she doesn't recognise or understand and ask someone if they can tell her what they mean. Maybe Olaf. Only Olaf is never alarmed when she does something which, according to just about everyone else, isn't how someone is supposed to act or feel, or when someone else does something and she can't understand why. At those moments, she wants to point out that doors don't tend to display much emotion, but she doesn't think that will give her any headway on the appearing normal front.

Then again, she _is_ seriously contemplating getting advice from a talking snowman so clearly that ship sailed long ago.

Still, if she's talking to Olaf, she might as well add her confusion to the list. She's always been adamant that she won't have children unless necessary. Even her parents thought the prospect was dubious and they always said she'd learn control one day. Maybe she shouldn't care about their opinion but she does. Children learn from their parents, after all.

And yet. In her moments of quiet, she catches herself thinking of names (she would have to pick the name because Burakoemin names often consist of bizarre, and, frankly, unpronounceable, combinations of letters such as _Wmffre_ ) and clothes (she definitely has better dress sense than David) and lessons she could teach a child (David would probably make the lessons more fun. David would be the fun parent, she decides). She imagines Nikolas playing with a cousin. She even imagines Anna's smug, _I told you so_ and David's quiet grin as he hoists the child on his shoulders.

But children take after their parents. She can't let herself forget that.

* * *

Yet she does forget it. More than once. She forgets it whenever she sees Nikolas. She forgets it when she passes the nursery. She forgets it late at night, when David holds her because she can't sleep. She forgets it when she looks at him and sees all those _somethings_ and wonders what he sees when he looks at her.

Most importantly, though, she forgets it when she tries to show him how she feels, and when they lie there afterwards. And while she forgets, she wonders.

* * *

She starts to feel sick and tired. At first, she assumes she's eaten something bad, but it goes on for too long. She doesn't know why she can taste something faintly metallic in her mouth, nor why Anna's suggestion of eating chocolate to cheer her up fills her with disgust. Her mood becomes more irritable with each passing day. After a week of it, she goes to see the royal physician.

After what feels like a lifetime, she leaves the physician's office. She walks down the corridor and passes Kai.

"Your Majesty," he says. "How are you today?"

She's so surprised that she blurts out, "Pregnant."

Kai blinks. "I hadn't heard. Congratulations, your Majesty."

She wipes a hand over her forehead. "I didn't mean that."

"You're not pregnant?"

"No, I mean, I _am_ pregnant but I didn't mean to _say_ I'm pregnant." She giggles nervously but it comes out slightly hysterical. "I just … I just found out and … please don't tell anyone."

"Ever?"

She giggles again and it's _definitely_ hysterical. "I didn't … I don't even know how it happened."

Kai frowns. "Presumably the usual way? Unless your powers-"

"No! They can't … well, I made Olaf and Marshmallow so I guess they can … oh, God, Kai, what if it _is_ my powers?"

The next thing she knows, she's being gently bundled into the nearest room and a few maids are being ushered out of the room with warnings that if they tell _anyone_ that the Queen is having something akin to hysterics, they will suffer the worst punishment that Kai, Kristoff and Anna can collectively think of. Snow bundles up around her chair.

"Your Majesty," he says firmly once the door is closed. He pauses for a moment and then says in a softer tone, "Elsa. You're not pregnant because of your powers. I don't think _ice_ is conducive to creating human life."

"It could be a snowman."

"I've gone temporarily deaf. While I'm waiting for my hearing to recover, you might want to think about what you just said and then decide whether you want to say it again."

She blushes. "I'm panicking, aren't I?"

He wipes snow from the top of his head. "A little. It happens. I assume you and his Majesty haven't … planned this."

Her heart clenches because of _course_ she has to tell David and she'll have to decide what she wants to do before she does that.

"No," she gets out. Maybe she shouldn't be so honest but Kai has been a servant in the castle for about twenty years. He practically raised Anna. "We didn't … I didn't … I…"

It's not even as though they sleep together that often. How were they not careful on one of the times they _did_? She'd thought that if she was going to be the way she is, at least the benefit would be some rationality in the heat of the moment. Apparently a combination of not feeling attraction and having ice powers doesn't equate to a good memory.

"Do you _want_ a child, Elsa?"

"I … I … I…" She draws a shuddery breath, exhales and jumps when she realises she can see the exhaled breath. "You see … it's…"

"OK," Kai says before she can stammer any more. "I suppose there are two ways to look at this. I think you need to decide if it's a question of wanting or not wanting children. If you don't want children, that's your choice and that should be the end of it. There are ways to rid yourself of child and I'm sure you could do it in secret. If you do want a child, then you should have the child."

She waits for him to continue but he doesn't. "That, that's it? You think if someone wants a child, they should just … have it?"

Kai shakes his head. "I said if _you_ want a child, you should have it. I suppose if you were someone who liked to kick small puppies, I'd have second thoughts. If I were asked about someone who was, say, into stealing from shops and knocking baskets from old ladies' hands, I might suggest they think about it. But I don't have any reason to worry about you having a child."

She blushes at the praise, suddenly feeling eight rather than twenty-eight. "You mean that?" Kai nods. "But, um, what if … what if you're not … sure?"

Kai studies her for a few seconds, undoubtedly wondering exactly what is going on in her head. Finally, he says, "Well, then I think you need to work out why you're not sure and think about what having a child would mean. Children aren't like toys. You're stuck with them for years." He pauses and his expression softens. "I think you also need to decide whether you're unsure or whether you're just worried. If you're worried that you'd be a bad parent, or scared that something will go wrong, then I think you do know what you want. You of all people know that fear is usually a bad reason not to do something. Especially in your case." He pauses again. "Good God, I think this is the most motivational speech I've given in decades."

Elsa giggles again but this time, it's not hysterical. Kai isn't known for being especially talkative. Hearing her giggle, Kai smiles the warm smile she saw so often as she grew up. Somehow, that smile, more than Kai's words, help her relax. She takes a deep breath which doesn't shudder (much).

"You … you really think it's a good idea?"

"In all honesty, and don't tell her I said this, I trust you with a baby more than I trust Princess Anna – and she already has a son. Not that her Highness is a bad mother but I feel like your child has a higher chance of making it to puberty without any broken bones."

Elsa makes herself take a breath. "Thanks, Kai. I think … I think my husband and I need to have a long talk. I'd be grateful if you wouldn't tell anyone about my pregnancy in the meantime." She walks over to him and wraps arms around him. "I'm glad I ran into you."

He returns the hug. "Any time, your Majesty."

* * *

There's a knock on the bedroom door. He shouts for the person to come in as he turns towards them.

Elsa enters, closing the door behind her. She's stooped and David can tell she's spooked. It gives him a strong sense of déjà vu. The last time he saw her like this was when she came to him, two days before their wedding, to tell him that she didn't feel attraction for anyone, including him. As a result, he doesn't have high hopes for whatever it is she's about to tell him.

Nonetheless, he strides over to her and puts his arms around her. Her skin feels cold but he pulls her to him, almost defiantly, and whispers that it's fine, he's got her, it's all going to be fine. He feels her relax slightly. But then she steps away and he can tell she's still spooked.

"You don't normally knock on your own bedroom door. What's happened?"

She hesitates. One arm swings in front of her, which is a strange gesture because she's normally so controlled. He kind of wants to reach out and hold the arm. At least she isn't completely still. If she's completely still, it means she's extremely upset. "Um, it's … you know … a thing…"

He waits. "Um … what kind of a thing?" She looks at him, eyes wide and blinking, as though he's asked the trickiest question known to man. "Right," he says once it's become clear that Elsa isn't going to reply. "Got it. Should I go kill the thug then?"

That jolts her out of whatever she's startled herself into. "What?"

"OK, wrong path. Um, I'll tell her we're very sorry?"

Now she frowns, which is better than looking startled. "What?"

"Fine then. I'll stand here and look manly till your sister teaches me how to read minds then." When she scowls, he says, "Elsa, you might as well tell me what's happened instead of saying it's a thing. Only think how embarrassing it'll be, right, if I go out there now and it turns out everyone else knows about it and I don't."

She smiles at that, which makes him relax slightly. It can't be _that_ bad if she's smiling. Besides, she's not hugging herself. "It's not something other people know," she says. "Not really. It's…" She takes a breath. "I went to the physician about me feeling ill and, uh, hesaysI'maboutnineweekspregnant."

David blinks. "I caught _he says_ and preg- wait, you're _pregnant?_ "

She blushes, looking oddly embarrassed, and nods. Her hands move to her stomach. He stands there, frozen. That's his child in Elsa's body and he has no idea if Elsa wants it. If he says he wants the child, Elsa might feel pressured. She'd never say so because Elsa is always, always convinced that everything she does is wrong and needs to be fixed. At the same time, maybe she does want the child but thinks he doesn't. Or maybe he should say what he thinks and trust her to be strong and independent enough to make up her own mind because she's nothing if not her own person. Or maybe-

"David? What, um, what are you thinking?"

He jumps. "It's, uh, a surprise, isn't it? I, uh, thought we…"

"Apparently not."

"Right. Apparently not." He coughs. "So, er, do you … I mean … how do you feel?"

"Sick, I guess." She rubs her stomach. He shivers. "But I suppose … we should discuss … you know."

"Yes." He coughs again. "I…" He hesitates. "Elsa, I … if you want the child then I want the child. I'd love him. Her. Whoever." He pauses and locks his arms behind his back, hoping Elsa can't see his fists clench, can't see how much he wants it. He gets the next words out. "But I know you're … not keen on the idea of children, see. So if you, uh, if you don't want the child … I … it's fine."

There's something in her expression that he can't work out as she says, "You'd never forgive me though."

"I would," he says. That look is still there and he sighs. "I would," he says again, and hopes it's true. "But I … I'd always wonder, see." He looks down. "But it's not me who's pregnant. And it's not me who … I know you've got your reasons, mind, for not wanting children, even if you won't share them with me."

Her eyes widen, startled. It takes him a few seconds to remember that she's never expressly said she doesn't want children. In much the same way that he's never told her that he thinks he might want them, he's never asked if she doesn't.

They've gotten through all these years ignoring the things they don't discuss, the things they won't name, and it's worked. Somehow, this feels confrontational, even if he didn't mean it to be.

She looks down at her fingers, laced together on her stomach. Then she says, "I didn't even think I could get pregnant."

Her tone is dull and, somehow, it feels as though she's punched him even though she's said it before. "Elsa-"

"It made it easier not to think about other things if I … couldn't. I could always say there was no point talking about it because why bother if I wouldn't have children? I suppose, really, I was hiding from it." She pauses. "Guess I didn't grow up as much as I thought I did."

So there _is_ a reason she convinced herself she couldn't have children. He should ask but she looks so small and vulnerable that he can't bring himself to probe. Instead, he puts his arm around her, part of him revelling in the closeness of her.

She leans in to him. It took a while – over a year – for Elsa to feel comfortable enough with his touches to react like this without hesitation. He can't help kissing the top of her head and feeling his heart leap slightly when she snuggles closer to his body. Whatever they are, whatever it is that's between them, it's moments like these that make him think it works.

"I always said that," she says after a while. "But I … I ran into someone after leaving the physician and they made me think..." She hesitates. "It … I obviously _can_ get pregnant and we … maybe we should keep him. Or her. I … maybe we could do it. People do it all the time. I mean, you can do this. You'll be there to…"

"Be the fun parent?"

For a second, it looks as though she's about to say something else, something dark. She almost physically stops herself from speaking. Then her lips quirk. "One of us would have to be, I suppose."

"I think I could do that then. I'll teach him or her to duck pens."

He expects her to laugh but she doesn't.

"And to sculpt ice," he says, now a little unnerved by the silence, "since it's a skill I've had to take up."

 _That_ makes her smile. "You want our child to be an ice sculptor?"

"Being a prince or princess is overrated, see. He or she will have a useful skill by the end of this." The tense in his sentence suddenly hits him. "It's settled then? We're going to be parents?"

"Yep." She suddenly looks unsure. "I mean … assuming you do want-"

"Yes," he says quickly, in case a speedy response will somehow stop her from taking it back. "I … let's do it!"

"Then we're going to be parents." She kisses his cheek and steps back, although she lets him put his arms around her waist. Her expression is more resolute than joyful but he'll take it. "But let's … let's wait for a bit before telling people. The physician said once I'm past three months, I'm more likely to carry the baby. I … let's wait until then."

He agrees. They talk for a bit longer about next steps, whether it will be a boy or a girl, whose features the baby will have, how they'll tell people about it, until Elsa has to leave for a meeting. He can't help wondering if perhaps the conversation should have been longer, given that, until about two or three hours ago, David could have sworn Elsa didn't want children, but he decides he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

* * *

After that discussion, the atmosphere almost seems lighter. They talk about names and games, and whether they should redecorate the nursery. They talk about which parent the baby will take after.

Elsa's stomach begins to swell. She still has morning sickness, which David tries to be sympathetic to. One night, David points out additional freckles that have appeared on her body, and she almost panics before the physician tells them this is perfectly normal.

In the moments between everything, though, she can't help thinking that children take after their parents and what if…

But then David will smile at her, and put his arms around her, and she'll remind herself that David will be there. David will be there and she will see the child and will love him or her. Their child will have David's sense of humour and his singing voice and his good nature. Their child will be perfect. The child will be as perfect to Elsa as Elsa is to Anna. She can promise herself that.

* * *

Anna has known for weeks that Elsa and David have a secret – every time she sees them, they're oddly giggly: David is more of a chuckler and Elsa only giggles when she's in a very good mood or if she's sleepy. Often, they trade glances or one of them will start to say something before being cut off by the other one, laughing. She hasn't asked them what the secret is because it's nice to see them like this. For all that they seem to work well together, there remains something between them that keeps them apart.

Sometimes, and she's been noticing this for a while, Elsa's mood swings the other way. Kai has commented, on more than one occasion over the past three months, that Elsa needs to stop destroying furniture. David seems remarkably tolerant – even more so than he usually is – and that's another thing that clues her in. But even though she knows that they're hiding something, she doesn't expect Elsa to tell her, rather guiltily, that she is pregnant.

For a few seconds, she's so surprised that she can only stare at her older sister, mouth opening and closing, probably making her look even more gormless than she thinks she might usually look.

Then she says, "That's amazing! I mean, you're gonna be a mother. You'll love it. You will. Oh, this is so great, this is…" Nearly seven years of conversations catch up with her. "Um, I mean, that's assuming you're not gonna … um … I mean … does David know?"

Elsa frowns at her. "You thought I wouldn't tell my husband? The man who impregnated me?"

She actually wasn't sure. David never seems to take an active role in Anna's mind when she thinks of Elsa.

"At least you didn't have an affair." She catches her sister's look and cringes. "Sorry. So, uh, I guess you aren't gonna…"

Elsa takes pity on her. "No, Anna. We talked about it. We're … we're going to give it a go." Her hands lie on her stomach which makes Anna feel a little funny because Kristoff said that when she was pregnant with Nikolas, she _always_ put her hands on her stomach. She walks over to Elsa and hugs her.

"This is such great news, sis. Niko will have a cousin. They can be like us! Niko will be the responsible one-"

"Definitely doesn't take after you then."

"-and yours will be the spunky, witty one-"

"Wait, why are they both like me?"

"Oh, shut up," Anna says and Elsa laughs.

She watches Elsa carefully after that. Elsa seems so happy, so radiant and full of life, that it's almost contagious. It's strange because Elsa was adamant that she didn't want children. Anna likes the change though. She only sees Elsa act this way when she's relaxed, and Elsa isn't someone who relaxes easily. On one occasion, Elsa actually guides Anna's hand to her stomach, because she thinks the baby is moving and wants Anna to feel it.

But on some occasions, she sees Elsa tense. Her hands will still on her stomach, and she'll look at Anna with a haunted expression, an expression she used to wear whenever she remembered … something. Something related to Anna and the time around the Great Thaw. But then she'll see Anna's concern and she'll smile and change the topic.

(Anna will never ask because there are some fears and horrors she knows Elsa doesn't want to share and which she knows she doesn't want to hear.)

Elsa and David pick names. If it's a girl, she will be Mirjam (Elsa's choice). If it's a boy, he will be Hywel (David's choice). Personally, Anna thinks the name should be something either more fun or, in David's case, easier to pronounce, but Kristoff has already warned her about interfering too much with Elsa's life.

People start to comment on the rounding of Elsa's body and, when she's nineteen weeks pregnant, she announces that she's expecting a child. Anna hears the population speculate on the gender of the child, whether it will be like Elsa or David and, most often, whether the child will also have ice powers. People aren't opposed to the idea although most seem to prefer having a ruler without ice powers. At least the rumours don't depress Elsa, although maybe that's because her mood swings seem to have stabilised somewhat.

On one day, she goes to her parents' marker stone and, for once, doesn't feel the anger she's felt for over seven years. Maybe it's just been too long, or maybe it's because she's always known Elsa's life would turn out OK in spite of their parents, but she thinks it might be because, finally, it feels as though the damage they did to Elsa is disappearing.

* * *

Something trickles. Excusing herself from the meeting, Elsa goes to the privy. For one absurd second, as she looks at the blood on her thighs, she thinks it's just her time of the month. Then she remembers.

She stands, walks into the corridor and, as calmly as she can, asks the nearest guard to send the royal physician to her room. Clearly, she's not as calm as she wants to be because the guard's eyes widen, and she can see ice building up at her feet. She closes her eyes but her stomach is beginning to cramp and that makes it worse.

Hands steady her, holding the crooks of her elbows as her arms cross her chest. She glances up to see the guard, his eyes wide but his expression resolute. He barks for someone else to fetch the royal physician and then guides her to her room, ignoring the ice playing around her skin, speaking comforting nothings. Weirdly, she can't help noticing that he's younger than she is.

She lies down and groans as another wave of pain washes through her abdomen. It feels as she imagined being in labour – or the beginnings of it – might feel, but that can't be right because she isn't due for another sixteen weeks.

* * *

A guard barges into the meeting, and, with no apology for the interruption, tells David that his presence is required elsewhere immediately. Once David is out of the room, the guard tells him that Elsa has fallen ill – badly ill, painfully ill – and is in their room. He immediately runs, pushing past servants, apologising as he speeds up stairs and through corridors.

He pushes open the door. The physician is speaking and he can just about make out the words.

"…it's extremely likely that this is a miscarriage. I'm so sorry, your Majesty."

* * *

It hurts even more now that she knows how it's going to end.

* * *

Afterwards, she lies on the bed, aching, panting and refusing to open her eyes. David, who entered the room at some point, still holds her hand. The only sound, apart from her pants, is the physician's shuffles.

"Your Majesties," he says softly, "I'm so sorry. The baby didn't survive. Would you … would you like to look?"

"Look?" David's voice is hoarse.

"Some parents find it comforting. If you'd like, I could describe the baby and then you can decide."

"Elsa?" David says softly. "Do you … want to see our … the baby?"

She doesn't know that she's strong enough to bear the sight.

Why did she ever think she could do this?

Gentle fingers brush her cheeks, wiping away the tears that squeeze from her eyes. She bites her lip.

Shouldn't she at least look at what she's done?

"OK," she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. David hears and tells the physician that yes, they would like to see before the physician takes the body away. She counts as she hears the physician move towards them, telling herself that when she reaches ten, she will open her eyes.

At fourteen, she hears a choked sob from David and her head snaps towards him as her eyes open.

* * *

Hours later, they are still in their room. Elsa has left once, to bathe, on the physician's orders. She's barely spoken since…

He closes his eyes, teeth ripping at the flesh inside his cheeks. He hasn't cried. He can't cry, not when Elsa lies on the bed, trying to stop frost from rising up on furniture, still aching. He'll cry later. In the toilets. As though he's sneaking candy somewhere.

"David?"

He looks at her, startled, and sees concerned, blue eyes, looking at him. Even now, she's beautiful.

"How are you?"

Her face closes off, which he recognises as her equivalent of having a variety of emotion flash across her face. Whenever she feels "too much", she does this, with only her eyes telling a different tale. He knows bits and pieces of why but not the full story.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly.

"What for?"

"I … our baby."

"It's not your fault, Elsa. You heard the physician. Sometimes, miscarriages happen, see."

"Rarely this late."

"But they happen." He pauses, trying to shake the roughness from his voice. "Don't say you're sorry. Not for that. It's…" He has to stop himself from growling because he _knows_ there are words for situations like this but he's never been good at saying the right things. "It's not your fault," he finishes, rather lamely in his opinion.

She doesn't respond to that and he knows – can tell – that she's blaming herself. He can see the misery in her eyes and in the curl of her body under the covers.

He stands and carefully, very carefully, walks to the bed and slides in. Elsa rolls onto her side, indicating that this is the right thing to do. He lies down, his chest touching her back, and wraps his arms around her, ignoring the cold rising through the fabric of her nightgown.

If there's one thing he's learnt in roughly seven years of marriage, it's that, sometimes, simply holding someone can tell that person more than words ever could.


	2. Grief (And the Places it Appears)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Frozen_**

 **A/n:** Here is part two. I'm afraid that if you're hoping to be cheered up this ... might not be your go to chapter (it does get cheerier, don't worry). For those who may now be worried about my demeanour in real life, I'm assured by friends and colleagues that I nearly always seem to be in a good mood and that I am usually annoyingly happy. Admittedly, they don't read my fanfics (as far as I know) so maybe they'd say something else if they did. Enough about that anyway - thanks for reading along and I hope you enjoy!

2) Grief (And the Places it Appears)

It turns out that people get through the next day because they have to.

She has to get up. She has to see the physician. She has to sign documents, and speak to ministers, and re-arrange meetings, even as her stomach cramps ( _after effects, your Majesty. It may happen for a day or two_ ) and people give her room because they think she's pregnant ( _it will be distressing, your Majesty. Your body should return to normal soon enough but I'm afraid the timing is different in each case_ ). She has to sit with her husband and write a short announcement about the loss of their child. She has to eat food.

She has to speak to Anna. She has to not break down or make ice or snow when she tells her what happened. She has to let herself be hugged and not mind when Anna looks lost for words, even though Anna is never lost for words. She has to make herself ask about Nikolas. She has to ignore the pity that flashes through her sister's eyes.

She has to look strong. She has to speak evenly. She has to breathe normally, and not freeze everything. She has to answer people's questions about her wellbeing and she has to think about it because they haven't announced the miscarriage yet. She has to try to explain it to Olaf and she has to smile at him. She has to encourage him to follow David because she just … can't, right now.

She has to listen to David when he says she should stop working and return to bed. She has to speak to him normally because God knows _he_ didn't cause the miscarriage. She has to ignore thoughts that she did. She has to look him in the eye and ignore the concern and other things she sees there.

She has to thank the guard who accompanied her to her room yesterday, and who sat with her until the physician arrived. She has to not cry when she walks by the nursery room. She has to lie down when the physician sees her and tells her to rest. She has to listen and nod when he tells her they may want to bury the body.

She has to see her sister again in the evening and try to muster up more expression and enthusiasm than she could this morning. She has to ignore the look on Anna's face which tells her that Anna knows full well that Elsa is not "fine". She has to evade the almost-but-not-quite questions because that's something she can't get into yet. She has to let herself be hugged.

She has to say goodnight to her husband. She has to lie down and look at the ceiling in the dark, feigning even breaths to indicate sleep. She has to pretend that David is asleep.

She has to do all of this and hope that tomorrow will be easier.

* * *

"How are they?"

Anna rolls over to look at Kristoff. He knows about the miscarriage but hasn't been to see Elsa and David yet. She shivers as she remembers her sister's expression.

"Not great, I think. I spoke to Elsa twice and she … I don't know, she just looks so … gone."

"Gone?"

"Like she doesn't know what to do with herself. Lost, I guess."

Or blank. The second time they spoke, there was a terrible blankness in Elsa's eyes and an aching dullness in her tone.

Kristoff strokes her arm and that makes her relax slightly. "Do they know how it happened?"

She shakes her head. "Apparently there might have been something wrong with the baby or something wrong with Elsa. Elsa thinks it's her, because, hey, she's Elsa." Kristoff smiles at that but Anna isn't in the mood to smile back. "She asked me if I thought maybe God or something had it in for her."

Kristoff snorts. "That sounds unlikely." When Anna doesn't reply, he says, "C'mon, you don't actually think there's some kind of supernatural force picking on Elsa?"

Anna hesitates. "I just … doesn't it ever feel like bad things always happen to her? Our parents lock her away for thirteen years, they die, she nearly destroys Arendelle, I nearly die, she's forced to marry someone to save the country and now she has a miscarriage? That just … I dunno, that feels like…"

"It's coincidence. Bad things happen to everyone. She's had it fairly good since she married David, you know." He pauses. "Apart from the whole being married to someone she doesn't want to be married to thing."

"That counts as _good_ in your world?"

Kristoff pulls a face. "I didn't mean it like _that_. I mean, they seem happy enough."

"I know," Anna says. She sighs. "But … I feel like … I still feel like bad things happen to Elsa … _more_. It … I dunno, I feel like she deserves happiness more than most people. Well, not most people but it's … she used to say she's fine with being _almost_ happy and I … why isn't she allowed to just _be_ happy?"

"I don't think anything's actively _stopping_ her." He runs a hand through his hair. "Bad things happen, Anna. Life doesn't care about who deserves it."

Anna is silent for a few seconds. "You always say that. And I know that, you know, life doesn't always have a storybook happy ending. But I always thought that there's gotta be _something_ that makes us act the way we do. Something we believe in, that makes it all be OK. Like God. But … what if there isn't anything?"

"What?"

"Well, you say what happened to Elsa's a coincidence. So if … if there isn't anything then … what's the point?" She sighs. "If you don't think there's something out there – God, a force, whatever – that makes things fair and good – you know, good things for good people – then what do _you_ believe in? What makes you keep going?"

He shrugs. "I do believe in God, I guess – I don't see why He can't exist if we have magic. But as for what keeps me going, that's you. Niko. Sven. My sled, when you're not setting it on fire." He chuckles as her expression turns mildly outraged. "Does an outside force have to make life fair?"

"I don't know." Anna thinks about that awful, blank look on Elsa's face. "But if there's nothing out there that repays you for all the bad things you suffer, why bother at all?"

* * *

The days that follow are strange. They announce that Elsa has had a miscarriage and messages of support and sorrow flood into the castle. He doesn't know if it's harder to read the messages that are aimed only at Elsa, or those that are aimed at them both.

It hurts more than he thought it would. It almost feels as though someone has punched his stomach and he is walking winded; or as though, if he closes his eyes for long enough, there is some void that will overtake him. On some occasions, he even finds himself mentally bargaining with someone or other, as though that will somehow give him the ability to raise the…

He doesn't know how to finish that sentence.

He tries to talk to Elsa as much as possible. Not about big things but about anything, anything at all. On one occasion, she asks him if he's OK, and he says he is but he isn't actually sure. Maybe she can tell and maybe she can't but she nods and doesn't pursue it further.

At night, they lie near each other, not touching.

Elsa seems to get on with life. She barely talks about the lost baby and instead throws herself into her work, to the alarm of just about everyone in her government. He thinks it might be one of her coping mechanisms. He would think she's fine except that he hears people talk about a strange blankness they see in her face, and a dullness they hear in her tone that is occasionally overtaken by an almost exaggerated reaction to events. He hasn't seen or heard either that often but that's because she apologises a lot to him and it always sounds the same. At one point, he even asks her to stop apologising, thinking that might help.

She apologises for that.

He doesn't think she's joking.

In any event, people seem happy to give her room. Instead, they come to him to ask questions. He supposes it's nice to be distracted but whenever he shows even the slightest flicker of irritation, he can see that they don't understand that he just wants some _space_. Or maybe _he_ doesn't understand. Maybe he's not supposed to be this upset about a baby who never was alive. Maybe he's not supposed to feel strangely empty at random times. Maybe it's only women who are supposed to be upset.

* * *

About a week after the miscarriage, Anna and Nikolas run into David in one of the gardens. He waves at her and she frowns which makes him stare. It's a good thing Kristoff isn't there. The last thing David needs right now is to get into a fight with someone twice his size over a woman's honour. _Especially_ when that woman will probably spend the entire fight laughing.

But Anna is more jittery than usual. She asks about Elsa a lot, asking if he's tried this and that, asking if Elsa is OK, asking if they're maybe thinking about trying again. That last one stings because it's not as though they planned this pregnancy or even talked about it. And now Elsa will barely touch him. The physician warned them that they shouldn't be intimate for at least two weeks and then added, privately to him, that Elsa's attitude towards touching might change for a while. She's not touchy-feely at the best of times but he can tell that even a slight brushing of skin seems to upset her. He tries not to feel hurt but it's hard.

(He knows she notices because then she apologises (again) and reaches for him. But it's always a stilted movement and it just feels awkward because even though he knows she's doing it out of obligation, he can't move away without offending her. She always lets go first.)

At one point, Anna says, "I don't get why she didn't want children originally. Once or twice, she said something about her being a bad parent or that she might pass on her powers. But I don't get it, 'cause, I mean, she doesn't even hate our parents and it's not like they were the epitome of good parenting. So what did she have to worry about?"

David just nods. It sounds similar to his (few) conversations with her. He briefly considers talking about it with Anna but he doesn't want her to tell him that he should have asked. He _knows_ it's a topic couples are supposed to talk about but Elsa's always had her own dragons to defeat, and, unlike the stories, marrying a prince was never going to be the solution.

Anna seems a little unnerved by his silence. After looking around edgily, she blurts out, "David? D'you … d'you believe there's something out there that makes life fair?"

He stares at her again, wondering where on earth that came from. Finally, he says, "I … suppose that's what God's for, isn't it?" He shrugs. "I don't know. I doubt there's something else that makes it fair."

"Then what d'you believe in? What makes you keep going when … when bad things happen?"

He thinks for a moment. What does he believe in? He believes in God, (at least, he hasn't seen any suggestion that there _isn't_ a God) but he's not sure that's what she's asking. He doesn't know that he believes in the supernatural, or in some other kind of force that regulates happiness.

"It's got to be alright eventually, doesn't it?"

"How, though? If there's nothing out there?"

"Apart from God?"

"You think God makes everything OK for everyone?"

He rubs his head. This sounds like the sort of debate he wouldn't want to be involved in even if he were in a better mood. "I don't know," he says. "But right now, I have to believe He does, see. Or that something does."

Anna's eyes widen, probably at his tone, and she nods before saying goodbye. He rubs his head again, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on.

* * *

"You're acting weirdly," Kristoff says to her that evening as she sits, thumbing through a bible. "Even for you."

She shrugs. "I'm thinking."

"Does it hurt?"

Even now, she can't help smirking as she says, "Shut up, Kristoffer."

* * *

As the days turn into weeks, she realises that she still doesn't know what to feel. On some days, she wants to cry about the loss of the baby, or apologise to David because of what she must have done. She feels like she does those days by going through the motions. As though everything she does has no meaning. As though her senses are swaddled in cloth and if she thinks about it too much, she can't breathe. And then she has to calm herself and bite her lip and not feel too much, which is horribly close to her teenage life.

On other days, she thinks it's better that she didn't have the child because … well, it's just better. Better that someone like her isn't a mother. Even her body knew that. She needs to get a grip. The kingdom needs her to get a grip. On those days, she feels a horrible itch in the back of her mind because she _knows_ why it's better that she didn't have the child – she's always known why it's better not to have children – but there's a feeling that accompanies it that she just can't define.

Anna sometimes talks to her but she seems distracted by something. Elsa suspects she wants to confront her about why she doesn't (didn't) (doesn't) (maybe doesn't) want children but she doesn't. Kristoff never asks either, but Kristoff wouldn't. Sometimes during these conversations, he mouths an apology, his lips quirking upwards, and it never fails to make her smile. She's never said it, but she always wants to ask Anna if she realises how lucky she is to have someone as steady as Kristoff in her life.

Olaf doesn't understand but he knows something bad has happened. He sometimes makes her laugh but looking at him makes her ache, more often than not, and she sends him to David. Just another thing to apologise for.

(She's not allowed to be hysterical, she reminds herself at those moments. She has to be _normal_. This was always going to happen. This isn't conceal, don't feel. This is … this is just getting a grip.)

No matter how she acts or doesn't act, David is always there, as steady and solid as Kristoff. A small blessing in and of itself. He talks but never about the miscarriage. She doesn't know if she's grateful for that or not. She'd thought he was upset but he doesn't seem too bothered now, and certainly nobody else is sparing his feelings – unlike her, where people almost go out of their way _not_ to talk to her – so maybe he's already over it. Which is fine. He should be. It's not as though there was (ever going to be) a baby. And she can't snipe at him given how much he's doing for her. Really, she should follow his example.

* * *

He receives a letter from his brothers.

 _We were sorry to hear about the baby, Dai. But at least now you know Elsa can get pregnant_.

He doesn't know what the rest of it says: he rips it up too viciously to piece it back together.

* * *

There's a royal function that requires Anna's presence. It technically requires Kristoff and Nikolas' presence too, but Kristoff still can't abide any kind of formal function and has claimed that it is Grand Pabbie's birthday. She wouldn't mind so much if it didn't seem like Grand Pabbie has roughly four more birthdays per year than anyone else she knows (including most of the trolls), and if they didn't often change date as well.

She spends most of it sat next to one of the Arendelle church bishops and it's actually not that bad. OK, maybe she should have known that he would be alarmed that she doesn't think she believes in God, or anyone, anymore, but at least he promises not to tell Elsa, in exchange for her agreeing to attend church next week. She hasn't actually stopped. Still looking for faith, she supposes. In any event, he tells her that God puts everyone through trials and that there is always a reason for everything He does, even if people can't see it yet (and, apparently, that God is OK with blackmail being used in relation to securing attendance at church. She might write that one down to human weakness rather than holy teachings). That might be true and it's close to how she's thought for years but she can't help thinking that unless Elsa is going to have everything she wants _and_ cake on top of it, the reason for her life will need to be pretty damn good.

It's the most coherent answer she gets that evening anyway – the other guests nearby only seem to add a general "something good has to happen at the end" as a reason (before edging away as quietly as they can) and she already knows that that isn't enough. None of these answers are enough. Why can't anyone _define_ what they believe in, in such a way that it makes _sense_?

Elsa herself is acting almost normally. In the sense that she is having full conversations. But she and David sit slightly apart from each other and when she listens to Elsa, it reminds her of quiet dinners with their parents, with Elsa patiently waiting for permission to escape to her room. When David disappears to talk to some nobles, Anna takes the opportunity to talk to her sister.

That awful blankness is at the edges of her eyes but the dull ache in her tone has been mostly replaced with resignation – not at Anna, she thinks, but at something else. And then, every once in a while, she'll simply … overreact. Not in the sense that she's angry – in the sense that she'll realise her emotions are dulled and will desperately try to make up for it.

"So," Anna says carefully, "how've you been?"

Elsa blinks, looking as though she actually has to think about this. At least she's not going to overreact. "Fine."

Anna isn't quite sure how to respond to that so she says, "Good. I thought that. You look fine. Not that you don't always look fine because you do. You totally do. People walk down the street and say, wow, Elsa looks … I should shut up, shouldn't I?"

"No." Anna looks at Elsa, a little startled. "I just … I like you being…" Elsa turns her face to Anna, a smile pasted on it. A small smile and that's worse than if it were too large and jolly. If she were someone else, she might think this smile is real.

"You're alright, aren't you? After the … what happened."

"Miscarriage. You can say it, Anna. It's … it happens. To lots of women. Just one of those things."

Anna doesn't know who Elsa is trying to convince. She tries to nod. "Alright, sorry. So, uh, are you OK after the miscarriage? I mean, you've been so busy…"

Elsa shrugs. "Like I say, it happens. I've been doing as well as I expected, I guess. Being busy helps. And I can't just … stop."

This is an avenue of questioning that is going to go nowhere. Anna knows her sister well enough by now to know when she's going to be obtuse about something. Usually it's about small things but Anna will maintain to anyone who will listen (Nikolas – he doesn't have a choice) that they _would_ have signed that international criminal jurisdiction agreement with Rasilend if Elsa hadn't been so set on refusing to remove book forgery from the double criminality provisions. Sure, others (Kristoff) may say it was really because Rasilend wanted discretion to refuse a warrant if the criminal had information that "assisted" Rasilend, but Anna is quite certain that Rasilend would have backed down on that if Elsa had only accepted that in Rasilend, book forgery was a really serious business. In any event, the answer is to try a different tactic. It's a situation that requires sensitivity, tact and delicacy.

"So are you planning on trying again?"

One day, Anna thinks, she _will_ learn what those words mean.

Elsa hesitates and, for a second, there is no blankness. There is no fake smile. There's … something else. But then she shakes her head.

"So you _don't_ want children now? I mean, do you or don't you?"

There's that hesitation again and it's longer. "I think it's a bad idea."

" _Why_?"

Now something else flashes over Elsa's face and she definitely recognises that. Anger. "That's an extremely personal question, Anna."

"You never minded me asking before."

"I never _said_ I minded before." As Anna fights to find words for a retort, Elsa sucks in a sharp breath and deflates slightly, looking around at the crowds as she does so. A few curious people glance at them. Right. They're still at the party. "I'm sorry, Anna," she says more quietly. "I shouldn't have snapped. It's just … that _is_ a personal question and it … I'm not that comfortable talking about it. Especially if I can't… well." Over the years, Anna has asked Elsa questions, some of them incredibly personal and some of them not. Elsa has almost never said she minds, even when she does. All at once, guilt fills her but before she can say anything, Elsa says, "I … probably wouldn't be a good parent. And besides, what if the child has powers and I couldn't stop him or her abusing them? Or the child could be broken, like me."

"You're not _broken_ ," Anna says. It's an automatic reaction now. She could probably convince the whole of Arendelle to say that to Elsa ten times, and Elsa would still maintain that there's something wrong with her.

Elsa shrugs. "I also … I think this has proven I probably _can't_ have children. I … well, there's no point, is there?"

"You don't know that you can't have children," Anna says softly. "You said yourself, miscarriages happen. And I don't see why you'd be a bad parent. I mean, look at what our parents did and you turned out-"

"Don't," Elsa says harshly and Anna falls silent. This is a sore point between them still. "Our parents did what they thought they had to do and they … I … just don't. Not now. Please."

Anna nods. She looks out, over the party, at David obliviously talking to the nobles. Elsa's barely mentioned him. He's been getting on with things though so he's obviously dealing better than Elsa. He, at least, doesn't have people like their parents hanging over his life.

Elsa watches her gaze. Then she looks at Anna and when Anna turns back, there's confusion in that blankness. "What?" Anna asks.

"Normally, you'd be ridiculing everything I said and telling me everything is going to be OK."

"But do you think that?"

"I don't know. But I kind of want someone to tell me that."

Anna thinks of her conversations that evening and over the past few weeks.

"I think you'd be an awesome parent, sis."

"But you don't think it's going to be OK."

She can't answer that and, luckily, a nearby baron comes over to ask Elsa something before the silence can become too telling.

* * *

He thinks things might not be back to normal yet. Elsa apologises less than before (which is still more than the average human but he's learnt to live with that) but she seems to speak less these days anyway. He thinks she laughs less but maybe he's making fewer jokes. Things don't seem as funny to him at the moment. And people talk to her as though they're talking to a wounded animal. They're more direct with him. He never mentions it to Elsa and she doesn't talk about it.

They do talk, though, and that has to be an improvement. They talk about their days in general. They talk about people they know. They talk about the kingdom's affairs. Sometimes, they laugh or grumble about ordinary things and it's almost as though nothing has happened.

* * *

But they don't talk about the miscarriage.

He can feel it crushing him. He wonders if it does the same to her too.

* * *

Anna still can't find an answer. She's asked just about everyone she knows, except for Elsa and Olaf. She's been dragged into ecclesiastical debates, theoretical debates, even the occasional drunk shouting match at the tavern ("Come on, feisty pants," Kristoff grunted on one occasion. "If you get arrested for disorderly conduct, your sister might turn you into a snowman for real this time."). Everyone has a different answer but it all seems so insubstantial.

And the more she thinks about it, the more she wonders – why did Elsa ever agree to have children if she doesn't want them? If Elsa was so convinced this would happen, why did she try, and why won't she try again? She's tried asking Elsa about children a few more times but she is always reluctant to answer. More than reluctant. Much like at the party, her answers verge on irritation.

On one occasion, she sees Kai, out in the city. He seems a little offended that she hasn't asked yet ("I'm not saying you should direct all of your spiritual questions to me but I did rescue you from that tree when you were nine, you know. I feel as though that was a bonding moment between us.") but his answer is only that people get out of life what they put in – good things happen to good people. Elsa is living proof of the falsity of that theory but she can't help blinking when he says, "I think it's perhaps less concrete than that, your Highness. If you don't mind me saying, your parents are an interesting example."

"You think my parents were bad?"

"No, but I think they did bad things. What they did to you was bad."

"You mean Elsa, right?"

"I mean both of you." Before she can question this, he continues, "And I think they knew that. Her Majesty … thinks she does bad things, which I think amounts to the same outcome."

That argument doesn't make sense either because, as Kristoff points out, it's not as though Elsa gave herself a miscarriage through the power of bad conscience, nor as though a ship sank because of her parents' bad parenting methods.

Maybe the answer is to simply ask Elsa what she thinks.

So when next she sees Elsa, she says, "What do you believe in? And don't say God."

Elsa stares. The blankness has mostly gone and her tone is less dull these days but Anna thinks she might still be hurting, especially since the occasional overreactions remain. "But I _do_ believe in God, Anna. As should you."

"I do. I totally do. I think He's doing a great job." She looks around, in case God decides to call her out on this possible lie. "But I mean … what keeps you going when things are tough? What makes you get up each day and, I dunno, not throw yourself off a balcony?"

Elsa flinches and Anna hates herself.

Elsa once knelt on the fjord, as snow hung suspended in the air, and waited for a sword to take her life.

It's one of those things that nobody ever talks about.

"I don't know," Elsa says, possibly too loudly but Anna is glad because it drowns out the sound of that ominous silence in her mind. "I suppose … I have things to do. I have Arendelle to look after. I have you and David and Olaf. I can't just…"

"That's it?"

"I'm not sure what else you're expecting?"

Anna looks at her then. For some reason, she'd thought Elsa might have a better answer than everyone else. Something that would explain why Elsa had the miscarriage. When Elsa asks why she's asking, she changes the subject.

* * *

"David," Elsa says later that evening, "has Anna recently asked you about your religious beliefs?"

"Funny you should say that," David says. "She asked me a few weeks ago. I heard she's been asking some of the nobles too."

Elsa nods. "I heard that as well. And she asked me tonight. I don't know what's behind it. She's never been one for questioning theories of the universe. Usually, she's just asking why I don't want children." She can't keep the bitterness out of her voice. "As though that would make everything better."

Sympathy flashes in David's eyes and she knows that he understands, that he, too, has had people suggest that another child might ease the pain of the miscarriage. As though children are toys or pets.

But all he says is, "Who knows? It's probably one of her phases."

Elsa nods but she can't help thinking that Anna's questioning, and her glum mood, only started after the miscarriage, and that if she's done one more thing to hurt Anna, she'll never forgive herself.

* * *

She is looking for David so that he can sign something. She's done that a few times since the miscarriage and she doesn't know that he feels any more validated by the action, but he does it without complaint. Usually, she's good at finding him but this time, she realises she has no idea where he is.

As she searches, she runs into Olaf. To her surprise, he knows exactly where David is – the garden with the cloudberry bushes.

"What's he doing out there?"

She doesn't expect Olaf to answer with, "Oh, he always goes out there. Or near there but he's there today. Today's an alone day, he says."

"An alone day?"

"For walking." Seeing her confusion, he smiles. "He likes walking. Says it clears his head. Sometimes I go with him 'cause I wanna clear my head too – like, you know, take out my carrot – but he says he likes to be alone so he can talk out loud. I don't mind him talking out loud but he says it's embarrassing when other people can hear him."

She looks at him curiously. She's not sure she's ever heard David complain. He's twitchy and anxious but he always seems content just to let things happen. "So does he ever talk to you about his problems?"

"Course he does. We're best friends!"

Olaf thinks everyone is his best friend so this isn't exactly a high bar. Nonetheless, Anna's curiosity is piqued.

"What does he talk about?"

"He says he's worried about Elsa, and he's sad about the baby. He wishes he could have some space but Elsa's the only one who gives it to him. He always says _I'm_ not allowed to tell anyone he said that and then he says he probably shouldn't let Elsa know 'cause it'll make her sad."

"Huh." For some reason, she's a little surprised that he's upset. She's always thought of the miscarriage as being something that happened to Elsa and he's always seemed so … fine. Generally calm and quiet. As far as she knows, nobody has ever heard him discuss the miscarriage.

Of course, Elsa rarely talks about it either, but she's Elsa. He's David. He can put up with it. He doesn't have demons in his past, he didn't miscarry and … he's fine. He'd say if he wasn't. Most people would say if they were unhappy.

She thanks Olaf and goes to look for David. Despite herself, she feels a little guilty when she asks for his signature, but he only smiles and shrugs in his easygoing way. Which means he's fine. He's definitely fine.

* * *

One day, David finds her playing with a necklace chain. He doesn't ask, but she feels her face turn red anyway. "My mother's," she mutters. "Old heirloom, got worn maybe once."

He nods. "Like all heirlooms then," he says and she can't help smiling. She does that more these days, she thinks. "My mother made my oldest brother carry round her father's belt buckle because she didn't know what else to do with it."

Elsa smiles again but it fades as she looks at the necklace again. "Mine taught me a lot but she never really gave me any heirlooms. Anna has a ring from my mother and a bracelet from my father." She pauses, fingers playing over the small jewel in the centre of the necklace. "They didn't trust me not to just destroy whatever they gave me."

David appears to think about this for a moment. "Hang on," he says. "If you were freezing everything, why did they let you wear clothes then?"

It's so unexpected that she laughs. "They could hardly have the heir to the Arendelle throne wandering around the castle _naked_."

"But they were happy to lock you-" He cuts himself off when he sees her expression. "Sorry," he says. "I just-"

"I know," Elsa says. "But they … they weren't bad people. I … I have a lot from them and…"

An arm creeps round her shoulder. "I'm just glad they taught you the importance of clothes," he says and she laughs again.

* * *

Although they have those moments, he still feels tension. Not just between him and Elsa, but between Elsa and Anna. Elsa's right. Anna's definitely acting weirdly and, as an offshoot of that, seems to be asking Elsa more and more about children. He doesn't get the feeling of her wanting to pressure Elsa though. He feels (and Kristoff agrees) that Anna is searching for something.

It's definitely bothering Elsa, although she hasn't said anything about it since she asked him about Anna's behaviour. It bothers him as well, though he suspects for different reasons. She's mentioned once that people never seem to know what to say to her. They certainly think they know what to say to him. If he hears one more person say, _Maybe you could try again, hey, your Majesty_ , he might just…

Nothing. He won't do anything and everyone knows it.

But Elsa seems to internalise it. Anna is known for asking awkward questions and she just nods and absorbs each question or comment with a shrug and a comment.

One night, they are having a "family" dinner. He doesn't know whose idea this was and he doesn't know if it's a good one or not but they all show up – he, Elsa, Olaf, Anna, Kristoff and Nikolas. The evening starts out pleasantly enough, with much of the conversation focusing on Nikolas. Olaf helps keep the mood light, making humorous and random comments. David has come to rely on that constant good mood of Olaf. He sometimes wonders if Elsa relies on Anna in the same way he's come to rely on Olaf and, if so, what she's doing given Anna's new mood.

But by the time they've reached the main course, there is a definite tension in the air between the two sisters. Or maybe it's just Elsa. Anna has made a few comments about children – which she _must_ know is a sore point (and which Kristoff has attempted to derail a few times) – and Elsa has started to clam up. It's not that Anna is being aggressive but her questions and comments, when mixed with her unusual thoughtful/moody mood, makes it come off worse than it otherwise would. And Elsa would probably normally laugh it off, or take it in her stride, but he suspects it's hitting a raw nerve (it's certainly hitting some of his own nerves).

Kristoff mentions that he needs to put Nikolas to sleep. As he hoists his son onto his shoulder, David has a sudden urge to offer to go with him. But that will look weird and he suspects nobody will thank him for running out of the room. Instead, he looks at Olaf and decides that, between them, they can return the evening conversation to its usual fun, random format.

"I think that's one of the cool things about parenting," Anna says, looking at Kristoff's departing back, "that you're a tag team."

Or not.

Elsa has clearly had enough of these comments because she says, "What about single parents?"

"Huh?"

"You know – women whose husbands abandon them; men whose wives leave with dashing soldiers; men and women whose partners are killed. Do they have anything cool going for them?"

Anna's eyes widen. "It's obviously harder for them but … I was just saying…" She shrugs. "I guess you'd be fine, 'cause you have David."

"Yeah, David's not going to abandon Elsa," Olaf adds which makes David smile slightly.

Elsa, however, frowns. "I don't understand how this turned into something about David and me."

"I didn't mean … geez, Elsa, I was just saying, if you _did_ have another ki-"

"And I've _told_ you, I don't want to try again." He can feel a chill wind start and immediately shifts closer to Elsa. "Anna, why is it that my own _husband_ can accept it but you can't?"

"Well, David would never tell you if he thought differently, would he?"

"Hey, none of that now," David says, trying not to show how much that stings (especially because it's true) (and especially because Elsa hasn't really had this conversation with him at all). "Let's just leave it. I think dessert is coming soon. What is it? Oh, look, chocolate cake. Great!"

"Ooh, I love chocolate! D'you think it'll have sprinkles on it?"

"I don't know, Olaf," David says in as enthusiastic a voice as he can muster. "What do you think, Elsa?"

Elsa and Anna are not paying the slightest bit of attention. "I don't see why David and my personal life is your business, Anna."

"I'm not saying it is. I'm just wondering … I mean, why did you…" She bites her lip. "I just don't understand is all."

"Understand? What is there to understand?"

"Well, you obviously _did_ want children before so why…" Anna bites her lip again and it occurs to David that she is physically stopping herself from asking questions. Because if she asks, Elsa has to answer. She's not being as insensitive as Elsa thinks she is. "If you wanted children, and then you had the miscarriage and you … don't want them now then … I don't … what do you believe there is to work _for_? I just don't understand."

OK, maybe he was wrong.

"There's more to life than _children_ , Anna. I have other important things in my life." Frost creeps onto the table. He reaches for her hand but it's so cold that he immediately lets go. Elsa doesn't seem to have noticed. "Anna, why can't you understand that I have my own reasons for not having children and that … maybe the miscarriage was a sign that those reasons were _right_?"

Anna takes a deep breath. "Alright, I'm sorry," she says, raising her hands. "I'm just … I'm worried about you, sis. I don't understand why you hate yourself so much that you don't even want to risk passing something onto a child _now_ when you were fine before."

"I don't hate myself, Anna." Elsa takes a deep breath as well. Maybe this is going to resolve itself. "Is this to do with your religious crisis? I don't think my having children relates to God, you know."

Anna blinks for a few seconds. "So it's not because you think God, or fate, or something, has it in for you?"

"No."

"But you said it was a sign. If you believe in those things, but don't think the miscarriage was a sign, why don't you try again?"

"Wow, this conversation's going nowhere, is it?" Olaf whispers to David, who thinks he would smile if it weren't for the expression on his wife's face. "Maybe the cake will calm them down."

"Anna, just leave it, OK? I don't think it's _fate_. It's … something else."

"It _is_ because you're scared your child's gonna be like you. You talk about being a bad parent and all but you always say, children take after your parents. How can you say you don't hate yourself if you're too scared to even _risk_ having a child like you after having a miscarriage? How can you say you have something you believe in if you don't even believe in _yourself_ anymore?"

"Anna, I'm _asking_ you to _drop it_."

He grabs Elsa's hand again, noting that her plate is now encased in ice, and holds on as tightly as he can. It's so cold, it actually hurts.

"Maybe we should all calm down now, see," he says as loudly as he can.

Anna barely spares him a glance. "Well, don't you think you should talk to _someone_ about it? You won't even talk to David."

"Anna-"

"No, why? Why won't you talk about it? What are you so _afraid_ of?"

" _Enough_ , Anna," Elsa says and nearly slams her hands on the table. She stops just a millimetre above the tabletop, finally noticing David's hand. He tries to smile and, for a second, she wavers. But she glances at Anna, who has shrunk back, and breathes in. Then she says, in a voice so devoid of emotion that it makes him shiver, "You really want to know why?"

"Uh, actually, I think maybe-"

"Did you know that children who were raised by abusive methods tend to abuse their own children?"

"Elsa-"

"You see it all the time in the city. Boys who were beaten by their fathers go on to beat their wives and children. Girls who are slapped by their mothers for acting out of turn slap their daughters for the same things. Even physicians have noted it."

"Elsa, you don't-"

"You didn't get the worst of Mother and Father, Anna. At most, they ignored you and then overcompensated for that. But for ten years of my life, they hid me in a room, told me I was a danger to everyone around me and made me repress my every emotion. You've made it very clear what you think of that. That's what I know of raising children – when I was your guardian, I tried to keep you locked in the castle and made you so miserable, you attempted to marry the first man you met." She opens her eyes and he can see that blankness he heard about so often. "It was never about what any child of mine would get from me, Anna. It's about what _I_ got from our parents."

"Elsa," Anna says, stricken, but Elsa has shaken her hand free of David's and is walking away. David is frozen to his seat, unsure of whether to follow her. Anna turns to him. "Did you know that?" He shakes his head, no. "I didn't mean … I just…"

And, suddenly, he's angry. "Then what did you mean, Anna? You _knew_ that was a touchy subject for Elsa, see. So what did you hope to get out of pushing her?"

"I thought … I just wanted to know how she can still have faith, even now. I thought maybe it's about believing in yourself and I thought … maybe if I could _show_ her that she … she believes in herself…" She scrunches up her eyes. "I thought if she could have children, maybe it would mean…"

"Well, it could've gone worse," Olaf says. "At least she didn't cause an eternal winter again."

"An eternal winter?" Kristoff walks in, smiling. "We having another one of … what's going on? Where's Elsa?"

Nobody answers.


	3. Faith (And the Places it is Found)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Frozen_**

 _Review reply to Crystal Hauntress_ : _So sorry I didn't reply in the last chapter! Anyhow, thanks very much for the reviews. I hope you enjoy the final chapter :)_

 **A/n:** Final chapter. First thing I want to say is that, in this story, Elsa is asked why she doesn't want children often. Please never feel as though you need to explain to someone why you don't want children. It's a personal decision and nobody has the right to demand an answer from you. Anyhow, thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting, following, adding this to what I _think_ is an Elsanna C2, which I appreciate though I apologise to anyone who's gotten this far and is angry about the lack of Elsanna - possibly a spoiler but there's no Elsanna in this chapter either. Hope you've all enjoyed. I'm too tired to think of much else to say so please, enjoy, and nos da!

3) Faith (And the Places it is Found)

She sits on the roof of the tallest tower, looking out at the stars. Small snowmen surround her. The ones closest to her are twisted and scary but as her mood has calmed, so has her use of magic. The ones near the edge are positively adorable.

She can't sit on the roof forever but she can't bring herself to go back down. She doesn't want to face David, who was the only one of the three humans in that argument who kept his head. Whose hand she nearly froze or crushed against a table. Who has finally heard why she doesn't think she wants children and what are they supposed to do now?

And Anna. What on earth is she supposed to say to Anna? Anna who was just asking questions and … Elsa _knows_ what Anna's like. Why couldn't she just let her irritation go?

A thumping noise makes her head turn. Kai scrambles out of the high window and walks gingerly across to her, sitting down with an expression that suggests finding the Queen of Arendelle sitting on a roof at night time, surrounded by miniature snowmen, is something he does all the time. He doesn't say anything, only looks at the stars.

Once the silence is unbearable, Elsa says, "I guess you heard Anna and me."

"No. Vitus did. Gerda has gone to speak to Anna so I decided to look for you."

"How did you know I was up here?"

"Randolph told me he was about to shoot a big bird off the roof. Good thing for you that I put two and two together, otherwise, to add insult to injury, we'd be preparing to crown your sister right about now." He waits for her to smile but she doesn't. "Do you want to talk about it, your Majesty?"

She hunches her legs up to her chin, feeling much younger than she is. "No … I … is Anna mad at me? I kind of lost my temper with her."

"Well, his Majesty assures me she was being annoying." She doesn't smile again. "I think she's mad at herself, not you."

"She shouldn't be. I told her she could ask me anything so…" She looks up at the stars. "I just don't know what's gotten into her recently and I … I don't know if I can handle it on top of … well."

She glances at Kai, whose expression doesn't contain any pity. She's glad. She doesn't know that she could handle one more pity-filled conversation. "Am I right in assuming she's been asking about children?"

"And why I don't want them anymore."

"And also about God?"

"Yes. I have no idea what _that's_ about."

He nods. "I wonder," he says, "whether the two are related."

"Huh?"

"If you don't mind me being blunt," he says, as though anything Elsa says will _stop_ him from being blunt, "I think Anna's struggling to deal with your miscarriage."

He doesn't say _as much as you are_ but she thinks it might be on the tip of his tongue.

"But she hasn't lost anyone," Elsa says slowly, sure she's missing something somewhere.

"You mean apart from a possible niece or nephew?" As Elsa feels her face heat up, he says, "Unless I'm mistaken, it's not a case of losing someone physical. I think her Highness lost God."

"God?"

"God, karma, happiness, whatever you want to call it. I would say this is a brilliant deduction on my part but, by all accounts, she's spent the last couple of months asking just about everyone what they believe in. I think your miscarriage has made her lose faith."

"Faith in what?"

"Whatever she believed in. You know her Highness as well as I do. She's always believed-"

"That everyone deserves a happy ending," Elsa says softly. "That good things come to good people. That, when it boils down to it, everyone is good." She moves so that she now sits cross-legged. "I guess … I guess I can see why she might view … why, for her, my having a miscarriage might make her question that." Her voice isn't neutral when she says _miscarriage_ but Kai kindly doesn't comment. "I don't see what me wanting children has to do with … anything though."

"I suppose, if it were a question of _want_ then that would explain why you've kept going – the miscarriage wouldn't have changed anything. But I think perhaps she thought … you went through with your pregnancy, in spite of everything you've always said to her – don't look so surprised that I know, your Majesty. Servants learn all the gossip by learning to lip read – but then you lost the child. But if you tried again and had another child – if you didn't give up – then maybe whatever she'd always believed in would still be there. Or if she could convince you to try again … well, what need would she have for God? She'd just need to believe in herself."

"She … she's always wanted to rescue me," Elsa says, closing her eyes. "Always wanting to rescue me but only ever saving me once. She … she doesn't think a lot of herself. Never has. She's always been convinced that she only has to hold the fort until the hero turns up, no matter what she says." She squeezes her eyes closed until she's sure she can safely open them. "Guess she won't have faith in me either then. Not after tonight. Nor David, if he ever had faith in me." She sighs and then pastes a smile on her face. "I'm sorry, Kai. I'm just moping. I don't know what's gotten into me tonight. I should go to bed and … probably apologise to my husband."

"Anna isn't the only one who's lost faith, is she?"

She stands. "I think maybe losing faith is just a sign of age. Most adults I know don't really possess it. They just say they do and assume the worst."

"You're hardly _old_ , your Majesty."

She shrugs. "People always say I grew old before my time, so maybe that's what counts."

She starts to walk away, Kai says, "Elsa?" She turns. "Do you hate me for … encouraging you, all those months ago?"

"No," she says. "You encouraged me but … it was me who hoped."

He doesn't say anything so she walks to the window.

"Your Majesty?" he calls as she is swinging one leg over the ledge. She twists (uncomfortably) and sees him smiling. "I stand by what I said then. Maybe I just haven't grown old enough yet."

* * *

Gerda sits next to her, with an arm around her shoulders and her hands occasionally stroking her hair. Kristoff stands nearby, trying to comfort/calm Anna. She's spent the last hour ranting, worrying and trying to explain herself, while swiping slices of a nearby cake and asking Kristoff to stop making snide comments. She feels emotionally exhausted.

"I don't get it," she says finally.

"Get what?" Gerda sounds as patient as ever. It's one of the things Anna has always loved about the old woman. No matter how upset, how angry, how nonsensical Anna sounds, Gerda will listen patiently and treat everything she says seriously.

"Elsa. I mean, what she said. About our parents. She _knows_ what they did was wrong. Why doesn't she trust herself not to do what they did? Why would she think _that_ caused a miscarriage?"

"This isn't going to be another project, is it? Ow!" Kristoff rubs the back of his head and looks at Gerda. "What was that for?"

Gerda clicks her tongue at him. "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Kristoff's slightly outraged expression makes Anna smile, which makes Kristoff smile. Gerda turns her attention back to Anna. "Knowing that what happened to her was wrong probably makes it worse. And she's always had that streak of blaming herself. Well, she would."

"But she's so much … better than she used to be."

"But it's about control, isn't it?" says Kristoff, dropping his hand from his head. Maybe he's decided to take this seriously after all. About time. "Elsa's whole life has been about control. That's probably why she didn't want to risk children to begin with. Probably why she's justifying the miscarriage as well – it doesn't have to be _random_ if she can blame it on something in her control. It's just something else that's her fault." He rubs his head again. "I know you've said it before but your parents really messed her up, didn't they?"

That sounds suspiciously sensible. "But … but she must know how ridiculous that sounds. She … she wouldn't do that anyway. Elsa's so much smarter than that. She would love her children. She loves our parents and if they did _this_ to her... I … she'd never hurt her children. She just wouldn't."

Except she always thought Elsa never hurt _her_ and yet…

"I'm not saying she would but I can see why she's worried," Gerda says thoughtfully. "She's right. Children learn from their parents' parenting methods."

"Oh, come on. It's not like I've tried to stuff Nikolas in a room by himself so that theory's clearly bull."

"True," Gerda says. "But you were raised differently to Elsa, weren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

Gerda only smiles, stroking Anna's hair again. "Elsa's got scars that will probably be with her for the rest of her life. She has to work around them and this is probably the only way she knows how to do that. I think," she says, her fingers pausing on a lock of hair that, years ago, was platinum-blonde. "it's sometimes worth remembering that just because you can't see something painful, it doesn't mean there's nothing there."

* * *

He doesn't know what he's supposed to say to her. He should confront her, he thinks, but when she comes in, her expression is so scared that he can't bring himself to do it. Again.

So he says, "How are the stars?"

Relief creeps onto her face. "Still there."

"Good, good."

The silence is awkward. He is already in bed, and now she changes and lies down next to him.

They've gotten through all these years ignoring the things they don't discuss, the things they won't name. He doesn't know how to even begin tackling what Elsa said. The way he usually deals with it is by making a joke, taking the tension away, so that they can put it off for another day. He doesn't know how appropriate that is here. But they've gotten through seven years on that approach.

So he says, "Did you know that when I was growing up in Burakoem, my father kept losing me on the mountains?"

"He … what?"

"It's true. Every time he took us on a hike, see, or just sent me on an errand up there, I got lost. My brothers always had to come find me. Once the entire guard went looking for me. It became a family joke that I couldn't be trusted on mountains."

He can almost feel her smile as she says, "You must have been terrified of Arendelle then, given we're by a huge mountain."

"But you see, my father isn't here to send me up it. It only happened when he did it. But I always thought, mind, what if I have to send people up nearby mountains? If I'm anything like my father, see, I'd lose them up there and then all the people I didn't send would waste an afternoon locating them."

Elsa sounds slightly confused as she says, "I'm sure I'd look for them too, you know."

He grins. "To be honest, I always thought you'd make sure anyone we sent up a mountain had everything they needed. Or that you'd send someone like Kristoff with us if I had to go, to stop me losing them, see. It's why I never told you about it. I knew you'd save me."

He hears a sharp intake of breath. "David-"

"Just thought you'd like to know that. Now we should probably sleep. You've had a hard day terrorising your sister and avoiding being shot at by guards-"

"You know about that?"

"For some strange reason, the captain of the guard thought I might appreciate knowing how close I came to handing over the throne to Anna whilst being mad at her. I can only assume he wanted to give me nightmares – probably pre-emptive revenge, see, for when he goes up the mountain looking for, er, Olaf or something. Anyway, you've been doing that, and I've had a busy day … being told that my wife is being shot at by overeager guards. We should sleep. We can … talk in the morning, see."

She doesn't say anything for so long that he wonders if she has fallen asleep, or thinks he has. But then he feels a small hand encase his, and hears a whispered, "Goodnight, David," and he smiles.

* * *

The days that follow are filled with awkward silences. Anna and Elsa won't speak to each other. David and Elsa's conversation is awkward or filled with stupid jokes. Kristoff and David are getting on fine, as are Kristoff and Elsa and Kristoff and Anna. Kristoff says he has never felt so popular, which earns a smile from Anna.

But at the bottom of it all, she feels dissatisfied. She's created a rift between her and her sister. She appears to have annoyed her brother-in-law. And she still doesn't have her answer. If ever more proof was needed that life isn't fair or good or looking out for people, this is surely it.

Until one day, as Anna heads to the castle to hand something to someone to hand to Elsa, a little figure runs out and wraps stick arms around her legs.

She looks down and smiles at Olaf. Nobody has ever worked out exactly where Olaf fits in Arendelle but, of course, Olaf has no need for labels. He seems perfectly content to live in the castle and explore the surrounding area.

Olaf excitedly tells her about what he plans to do with his day but she's obviously not showing enough enthusiasm because he says, "You know what you should do? You should turn that frown … upside down." He attempts to demonstrate on his face but gives up.

"Sorry, Olaf. I just … haven't been in a good mood recently. Not since that dinner."

"Because Elsa won't have children?"

She winces. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me."

"Oh, that's OK. Any time!" Despite herself, Anna smiles. Olaf grins. "See, you feel better already." He pauses. "Why'd you wanna know if Elsa wants children anyway?"

"It's not … I just … I don't understand how it's fair that she miscarried after … everything. Like, who decides that stuff? 'Cause if it's nobody, what's the point in trying? What are people working _towards_? And obviously what I always thought was wrong so … I've been asking everyone what makes them go on or act the way they do – what they believe in, what makes them think everything is fine and worth fighting for. And everyone has all these different answers but nobody can even define it, unless it's God, so that's useless, but they all still seem to believe in _something_."

Olaf looks at her, puzzled. "Course they do."

"Huh?"

"Everyone's gotta believe in something. Otherwise you'd believe in nothing at all, and that's just silly, 'cause then you wouldn't think I exist. You'd just not … do anything, wouldn't you? 'Cause you wouldn't think it was there." He shrugs. "There's always stuff to believe in. Even if it's, like, a smile, 'cause it's still there, isn't it?"

Anna stares at the little snowman. Everyone she's spoken to has believed in _something_ that justifies their actions – God, happiness, good deeds; Kristoff believes in his family; Kai believes that good makes good; Elsa believes in Arendelle (if not herself). She's always known that and that's been part of the frustration. All of those concepts seem so insubstantial whenever she thinks of them.

But nobody seemed worried when she pointed that out. Some said struggles like Elsa's were part of their beliefs. Others said that maybe it couldn't be justified but that didn't mean they should give up. Fair or not, God's path or random coincidence, there was always _something_ that made them continue. A reason why a bad incident didn't mean the end. Something worth fighting for. It was still there, even if they couldn't really explain it.

And for all of her doubt, she thinks maybe Olaf is right. Because she might be questioning whether there is anything out there that makes life fair but, she realises, she _doesn't_ think there's nothing to strive for. She loves Kristoff and wants to be with him, and make him happy, and watch him grow old with her. She wants to see Nikolas grow tall and strong, have his own life and family, smiling and wonderful because she loves him as well. She wants to see new things in the world just because she wants to _know_. She wants to help her sister run the country because she knows her sister wants that, and she knows she can help, and that makes her happy. She wants to see her sister smile because if anyone deserves to smile, it's Elsa.

None of these explain Elsa's miscarriage. None of them define _what_ she believes in. But each one of them is _something_ that makes her think it's worth carrying on for.

 _Normally, you'd be ridiculing everything I said and telling me everything is going to be OK._

 _I kind of want someone to tell me that._

So maybe that's the secret. Anna isn't sure that everything _will_ be OK, but maybe nobody knows that. Maybe Elsa knows that Anna can't guarantee the future. Maybe Elsa just wanted someone to tell her that it's OK to believe it will be. Maybe Elsa is scarred by how she grew up and maybe she doesn't believe in herself but maybe she knows, deep down, that she _could_ believe in herself. If other people could show her that she should believe in herself.

Maybe Elsa just wanted _something_ to hold onto, _something_ to fight for, instead of nothing at all.

* * *

She goes to speak to Elsa, document in hand. She decides to cut through the garden with the cloudberry bushes and nearly screams when she hears a man talking in a strange language. After a few seconds, she realises that it's David, talking in Burakoemin. Curious, she creeps closer but can't see that he's talking to anyone.

Elsa once told her that whenever David thinks aloud to himself, he does it in Burakoemin. She wonders what he could be talking about. David's never struck her as being particularly moody or prone to complaining, or even upset. Just annoyingly twitchy at most. Generally speaking, he's good natured and sanguine, tending to take everything that happens to him on the chin. Even after the miscarriage, everyone took a step back from Elsa, and turned to him. Because he wasn't the mother and because he could take it. And at that dinner, he got mad on Elsa's behalf, rather than his own.

 _He wishes he could have some space but Elsa's the only one who gives it to him._

Wouldn't he complain if he felt as though people asked too much? Wouldn't anyone complain or _say_ if they were upset? Why would he bottle it up? And surely someone, someone other than Elsa and Olaf, must have asked? You would ask. It's just common sense.

 _But you were raised differently to Elsa, weren't you?_

Then again, she thinks, when she was a child, everyone always assumed she was OK. Everyone talked about Elsa, glossing over Anna. To people like her parents, Anna was OK unless she did something like break her leg, or run away, or knock over all of the suits of armour. She was well-adjusted because she was chatty, even if she did spend a lot of time talking to paintings, or random strangers. Anna was coping, even if she dreamed desperately of leaving the castle and never looking back. Nobody needed to ask her. It was a given that she was OK. And she could never say otherwise because who would listen or believe her?

 _It's sometimes worth remembering that just because you can't see something painful, it doesn't mean there's nothing there._

She wasn't OK, she thinks. She wasn't well-adjusted, or even happy. She was lonely. She was unhappy. She thought she could marry a stranger within two hours of meeting him. She wasn't OK and that nearly got an entire kingdom killed.

Somehow, she doubts that anyone, apart from Elsa and Olaf _has_ asked if David's OK.

 _You think God makes everything OK for everyone?_

 _I don't know. But right now, I have to believe He does. Or that something does._

David's like Elsa, she realises. Both of them want _something_ to believe in. Something that will tell them it will all be OK. And in the meantime, he talks to himself because he doesn't think he's allowed to tell anyone that he might not be OK.

 _She's right. Children learn from their parents' parenting methods._

And she has never once considered that he might not be fine. Because Elsa has always been the problematic one of the two.

 _You think my parents were bad?_

 _No, but I think they did bad things. What they did to you was bad._

She hates her parents and she'll be damned before she lets herself repeat their mistakes.

* * *

Elsa once told him that the last thing anyone wants is Anna deciding to make them the object of her next plan when she hasn't thought through the details. David had pointed out that Anna had already done that – twice – in relation to preventing him from marrying her, but Elsa had, at the time of this conversation, been woken up by having to deal with Anna's attempt to decorate the city square with pink baubles for reasons that nobody, not even Kristoff, would divulge, and had merely scowled. Thankfully, since he married Elsa, Anna has rarely involved him directly in any of her plans and so he has often escaped the fallout. Sometimes, he even assumes that Elsa and Kristoff are exaggerating their effects.

Despite this, he can't help feeling a stab of trepidation when Anna marches up to him, holding something in her hand, and says, "Hello."

"Hi."

She stares at him, which only makes him feel more uncomfortable. Then her expression softens and she smiles. "I saw you out here and I … I wanted to talk."

He scratches his head. The last time they spoke properly was when he snapped at her. "Alright then," he says as neutrally as he can. "Um, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "Not about me." As he opens his mouth, she adds, "Or Elsa. I want … I … blegh."

"Anna?"

She pulls a face. "I suddenly have a lot more sympathy for you." Before David can ask what she's talking about, she says, "David, how are you?"

"Um, fine, thanks? You?"

She hesitates. "I'm fine. Um, David, d'you mind if I ask…" She seems to be thinking of a tactful way to ask her next question, which makes David feel even more nervous. "Look, can we sit down?"

He looks at the grass. "Here? You'll get your dress muddy."

"That's OK, it usually gets covered in reindeer fur or whatever Niko is eating anyway." She sits down so hard that he can hear a little _whump_. After a couple of seconds, he also sits down. Gerda or Elsa will undoubtedly tell him off for getting his trousers dirty but he'll live with that. He's still not sure what Anna could want to talk about that requires them to sit in the mud but he hopes it isn't going to be a repeat of dinner. "So, um, I'm just gonna go for it, OK? I mean, there are tactful ways to ask and I feel like I should have asked before now but I didn't but, hey, better late than never, right? Um, I mean … David, are you OK? About the miscarriage, I mean?"

David has been staring at her in some consternation but as soon as the word _miscarriage_ is out, he feels as though he's missed a step walking up the stairs, or as though someone has punched him in the stomach.

He's about to say he's fine, but Anna says, "You can tell me the truth. I won't tell. Not even Elsa, if you don't want me to. I mean once we start talking again 'cause, er, yeah. And don't worry, I'm not about to suggest you start having children." She hesitates and then adds softly, "I know it's not the same but when my parents died, it felt like the world had ended. Everything was just … painful. Everything was too bright, and everyone was talking and I just wanted them to go away and let me be in silence, and then Elsa wouldn't even leave her room, which I get now, but at the time, I was like, _geez, how can you be so selfish? How can you not even care?_ "

"But they were alive, see," David hears himself say. "You're supposed to feel like that with parents. I didn't have any interaction with that baby, mind. All I had was the _idea_." He shrugs, feeling as though he's trying to shake off some heavy burden. "And even then, it was _Elsa_ who had to carry it, see, Elsa who actually had to … have it."

A hand lightly touches his shoulder. He glances over at Anna, who wobbles a bit as she tries to keep her hand on his shoulder, before shuffling slightly to allow her arm to bend. "You're still allowed to be sad, aren't you?"

"I don't know," he says, looking at that small hand. "It's like I said, see. There never _was_ a baby, was there? And … I don't think men are supposed to … get upset about it." He pauses. "Everyone expected me to be fine so … I'm probably just doing it wrong."

"There wasn't a full baby but there was _something_ ," Anna says slowly. "It's not as though you and Elsa were walking around and expecting a baby to pop out of thin air one day." She pauses. "That'd be weird to watch. Imagine if there were kids popping out everywhere. _Anyway_ , my point is, if there was something, why d'you think you're not allowed to feel sad about it just 'cause you're a man? Maybe it affects Elsa differently to you, but it still affects you. And who cares what people think? Be sad if you want." He looks at her. She says, "How d'you actually feel? You can tell me."

Her eyes are locked on to his and, for once, he doesn't want to say _fine_.

So he doesn't.

* * *

It starts to rain. Anna's arm is around his shoulders.

"Thanks, Anna," he says. He wipes a hand over his eyes, as though getting rid of rainwater. "That was … thanks."

Anna shrugs. "It helps, sometimes, to talk about things. Sometimes, you just don't know it until someone else asks." She looks at the scrunched up piece of paper now lying in the mud. "Sometimes, you don't even know you're not OK until someone asks."

David thinks about this. He hasn't _assumed_ Elsa's OK but, until that dinner, she seemed to be coping. He could have asked – maybe should have asked – but he hasn't wanted to confront her. He hasn't wanted to impose.

And after that dinner…

"I don't know how to check if Elsa's OK," he admits. "I should but … I just don't want her to … I know she's had it hard, see and it's not like I'm-"

Anna shakes her head. "She likes you, David. You only have to hear her speak about you to see how much she likes you, even if she doesn't say it." She hesitates and then says, "You know how we have this thing, where I can ask her anything and she'll answer it truthfully?" He nods. Elsa's told him about that before. Anna smiles crookedly. "For all that I pushed her at that dinner, the ironic thing is, we never did it the other way round. I thought about suggesting it but … despite what she thinks, Elsa's stronger than I am. She might not like it but she lets herself be put into situations where she has to face the truth. She just … needs a push." She pauses. "A more tactful push. Usually. Sometimes, she really does just need a good shove."

He thinks about that. There have been a lot of occasions in their relationship when Elsa has initiated a discussion about something difficult but it's always been through a lot of stuttering and often long after any other person would have done it. And he knows there have been more times when she's started but let herself be distracted by him.

Sometimes, he thinks they're a good pair but for all of the wrong reasons.

"Maybe I should speak to her," he mutters, more to himself than anything, but she nods. Somehow, that nod gives him courage. As though the concept of speaking to his wife requires validation. He stands up, wiping the mud from this trousers. "Thanks, Anna."

As he starts to walk away, she says, "David?"

He turns. "Yes?"

She smiles. "Everything's gonna be alright. Maybe not the same as before but it'll be OK. You'll see."

* * *

David slips into her study so quietly that she's only aware of his presence when he coughs. She's so startled, she ruins a stray piece of paper. After a second, she turns around

"Hello," she says.

"Hi, Elsa."

His eyes are red – has he been crying? – but there's a strange intensity to them. He doesn't move.

"What's going on?" she says. "I thought you had some work to do."

He walks closer to her, fiddling with the end of his shirt. It's damp and now that she looks at him properly, she realises that his trousers are muddy. "I did. But, uh, I had something I wanted to talk to you about, see."

She can feel her heart clench as she says, "Hmm?"

He meets her eyes as he says, "I miss our son."

Her heart stops.

"What?"

"I miss our son." He doesn't look away from her but his fingers stop fiddling with the end of his shirt. "Hywel."

It's the first time either of them has acknowledged that the foetus – the baby – had a visible gender. The first time either of them has said that the baby was … something. Someone. Could have been someone. Could have been alive. If only.

"I dream, sometimes, that Hywel was born properly. He's a quiet baby in my head, mind. Likes to sleep, likes to watch the world. And when he smiles, it's as beautiful, as gentle and calm, as his mother's." His voice cracks on the last word but he only pauses to take a quick breath. "I dream that and then I wake up and I remember you lying on that bed, too scared to even scream. And then there's your silence afterwards and the thought that we … lost him. We didn't even get to hold him."

He draws a breath. "Sometimes, all I can think about is what we would have done with Hywel, how he would have been. I remember all of our conversations and plans, see. Other times, mind, I get through the day without thinking of him at all and then I remember and I feel bad. And between, see, I keep thinking, what could I have done to save him? Was it something I did?" He hesitates and colour floods to his cheeks. "Sometimes, I just want to scream or cry. But then I look at you and you usually seem to be handling everything or at least coping and I think, I must be overreacting, right? I mean, everyone asks about you, see, but I thought if nobody asks about me, it's because I shouldn't be upset. So then I try to, you know, man up and just cope but…"

She looks at him, her mouth opening and closing several times. She should divert him. She should tell him he doesn't have to pretend around her. She should tell him … she should tell him…

"I'm not handling it," she says and blinks, surprised at the admission. She opens her mouth to take it back but it feels as though something inside her has cracked. "I'm not handling it," she says again. "I'm just … trying."

He nods, and she wonders whether he knew that.

"I can't fall apart," she says. "Not again." She looks out of the window onto a gloomy afternoon, trying to control herself. Getting a grip. That's what she should be doing. "My father once said that people like us aren't allowed to have crises," she says in a more even tone of voice. "I didn't understand what he meant at first but … you say everyone asks if I'm OK but I can hear in their voices that what they're really thinking is that there never _was_ a baby, and how long will it be until they can go back to pretending I'm absolute and infallible. They just don't know how to act around me." She closes her eyes, concentrating on breathing in, but the more she talks, the more David looks at her understandingly, the harder it is. "So I remind myself that it's … you know … better that I don't try and … that that's probably why it happened anyway, and that helps, or I tell myself that there wasn't ever a baby or that … these things happen and you don't hear about anyone else wanting to smash icicles or … or do … _something_. Something to let everything out that won't have them thinking you're ill or wrong or about to kill the country."

"Elsa…"

But she can't stop. "It's not even every moment. It's like you said – I go hours or even days without thinking about it, and then someone will do something or say something and I'll imagine what he would have been like; or wish I could have been someone with a normal body; especially when Anna or Kristoff mention Nikolas, or I walk past the nursery. And it's stupid because I _shouldn't_ have children and I'd probably have made his life hell and why would I ever think I _could_ have children but … but I hoped. And I know you wanted him and I thought, with everything else I am, why couldn't I even give you Hywel? Why did I…" She makes herself stop, counting by fives until she's calm. But she can't keep the choke from her voice as she says, "He was so _small_."

Her body shudders and he's there, arms around her, holding her to his chest, and this feels comforting, not weird. She's glad his shirt is already damp; if her hair seems wetter when she lets go, she decides not to comment on it.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I … I don't know what came over me."

David smiles slightly. "I know the feeling. But, I think … maybe we both needed that."

She sniffles but she feels strangely light. "I … you think? I just … I'm not supposed to … react like that."

He smiles. "You're the Queen, Elsa. What good is being the Queen if you can't freak out when you want, see. I mean, who's going to stop you?" He pauses. "Unless you do it on the roof."

Despite herself, her lips quirk upwards. "You sound like Anna. When we were younger, she always used to argue that she should be allowed to do things like dive in the fjord because she was the princess so who could really stop her? Unfortunately, that argument rarely worked on our mother. Or Gerda."

David chuckles. "I think this is more sensible than diving in the fjord but do that if it'll help."

"If I want to give people the impression I'm crazy…" She thinks for a moment. "Actually, I've already frozen Arendelle once. I don't suppose I can do much worse."

(It's a funny thing but the more time that passes, the more able she is to joke about freezing Arendelle. But she doesn't think she'll ever be comfortable with the fact of what she did.)

"You could freeze Arendelle and _then_ dive in the fjord. They'll either think you're crazy, see, or just very thick-skulled."

"What are you trying to say?" He laughs and looks at her. She returns the look. For a few seconds, they smile at each other. Given how she was, only half an hour ago, she should be surprised, but she isn't. David has always been able to make her laugh.

But then his expression sobers. She can see the hesitation in his eyes as he says, "Elsa, I … there's something I … I kind of want to talk to you about."

She feels strangely clammy and it takes all of her courage to say, "Yes?"

He hesitates and she thinks, _this is it_. One of them is making good on David's suggestion of years ago.

"It's … if I'm honest, I'd like children. Maybe not right now – I don't even know that I could handle it now, see – but … one day…"

A mixture of shaky relief and missing steps hits her. "What?"

"We've never really talked about it, see," he says. "But I do. I don't really know why. I think I like the idea of bringing a new life into the world. Someone to teach and love, to show what life has to offer. I suppose I also like the idea of having … having someone here, to carry on when we're gone. And having children is an expression of…" He trails off and there's something uncertain in his eyes. He finishes with, "I guess some couples have their own reasons for it."

That hurts but it's not undeserved.

"What you said at that dinner." He hesitates. "I … I don't know that I believe it." Something of her feelings must be on her face because he hastily adds, "I believe that you're worried about it but I don't believe you'd do it, see. And I don't believe that … I'd let you do it, even if you tried."

"You think you could stop me?"

"I … I'm very good at hitting people over the head when they're not looking, see. You get good at sneak attacks when you're the youngest of three boys. So whilst you're unconscious, see, the kids would get to go play. Problem solved."

It's so far from what she was expecting that she actually laughs. "What?"

His expression is still anxious but there's a crinkle of humour in his eyes. Along with that _something_ she still can't define. "I'm not saying it's a perfect solution, mind. I'm not saying there isn't a risk that you'd suffer permanent head injuries either. But we _could_ do it that way."

It's such a typical David thing to do – turn things into a joke, even when he wants answers. She feels a wave of fondness wash over her. He hates making a fuss, he hates complaining and he especially hates confrontations. But he's doing all of that right now because she wouldn't.

That _something_ that's often in his eyes is still there. In fact, she doesn't think she's ever seen it disappear, even in the days and weeks after the miscarriage.

"I don't think _hitting_ me reduces the, uh, the abuse factor," she says.

"But I don't think it'd come to that, see. I don't think you think it would either. But I'd still be there, even if it did."

"David-"

"I know you're scared of doing what your parents did but you're _not_ them, see. You've got hindsight and … it just isn't you. You're someone who speaks to people you dislike with as much politeness as you'd speak to someone you like. You're someone who buys toys for Niko and plays with him even when you'd rather be in bed. You're someone who could probably take over the world if you really wanted – but you married _me_ rather than use your powers to scare other countries into just helping you."

"David, my parents would have done all of that. Don't you see? They were _good_ people, _loving_ people, people who wouldn't hurt a fly and they _still_ … hurt me."

"They were people who made a bad mistake and people who didn't learn from it," he says steadily. "They validated each other, see. But I don't think that's you."

"I did the same thing they did to Anna," she reminds him. "It's because of _me_ that she … did what she did."

"No, it isn't. You didn't mess Anna up: your parents did. OK, you didn't help but you weren't that much older than she was, see, and you had no one to tell you not to do it. Of _course_ you did what your parents did – you didn't know better, see. And even then, Anna came out of it as someone who'd go into the cold to find the one person in Arendelle that everyone was scared of. And _after_ that, see, you and Anna worked together to fix everything. You spoke to people. You gave her work to do and let her move out of the castle and marry Kristoff. What you _didn't_ do was immediately lock her in a room and tell her she wasn't allowed to leave or smile again."

There's something about his phrasing that makes her smile. "David," she says again. "David, I…"

He places a hand on her shoulder. "Can I ask one question? And then I'll shut up. I promise." Hesitantly, she nods. "Anna was right about something and you kind of said it yourself – you _wanted_ Hywel. And you changed your mind but this … this isn't a new reason. It's … do you really think you had a miscarriage because you _shouldn't_ be a mother?"

She has a sudden feeling that Anna and David have collaborated somewhere because _that_ is the sort of question Anna asks when she knows Elsa needs to confront something.

"I … well … I suppose I don't _think_ it in the sense that it seems unlikely," she says slowly. She bites her lip (a habit she thinks she picked up from Anna but, truthfully, neither of them is sure which of them started it). "But … it felt like … you know, a sign." She pauses as something occurs to her. "Wait, did Anna and I switch roles?"

David laughs and she smiles ruefully at the thought. When Anna's not mad at her, they'll have to talk about this. Then she sobers.

"It's not … I … I don't know that I could handle this again," she says quietly. "Because maybe it _is_ me. My body. The physician said it could be me. And … even if we did try again and I did get pregnant and then it turns out my fears are correct, I … I don't think…"

He squeezes her shoulder. "I guess I can understand that," he says quietly. "Not that I think it's you, mind, because it could be me, but … losing another child…"

"It would … shatter me."

"Really?" He considers her. "I think you're stronger than you let on, see. You've always been better at facing your fears than most people I know."

She blushes.

"But I … I think, ultimately, it's a question of what you're happy to do," he says slowly. "If you don't want to try again, see … it's your decision."

Which is David all over. Whatever Anna says about her, she sometimes thinks his self-sacrificing streak is bigger than he is.

So she says, "And yours."

"Huh?"

"Aren't you in this marriage as well? Or did I marry myself?"

"I … well, yes, but-"

"But what?"

Because they've been married for over seven years and he almost never complains. Not about the forced nature of their marriage; not about the fact that she doesn't desire him; not about Anna's slight hostility towards him; not about the work he has to do. Maybe it's because he's not strong-willed, or because he's a bit of an escapist. Maybe it's because he was too scared to risk marrying someone he hated for his father.

But if there wasn't _something_ between them, they would have made good on his suggestion and divorced, wouldn't they?

"But you're the one who … I don't want you to do something you don't want to."

"So you should go without things you want? You said you want children."

He rubs his head. "I feel like we've had this discussion before."

They have. Years ago, in the first weeks and months of their marriage, when they tried to make their orientations and lives compatible.

"And I feel like we _resolved_ that. Sort of." She stands up to face him. "Come on, David. You told me not twenty minutes ago that you _want_ children."

"Yes but … I mean, only if you want them too." He grins. "Ha. Try getting out of that one."

"You _cannot_ be making a joke out of this _again_."

He only laughs, his eyes crinkling with amusement. There's something about that that makes her heart warm. Something about how he _always_ makes a joke. Something about how he came to speak to her, and opened himself up to her, because he was worried about her even though their relationship isn't … whatever it's supposed to be. That there's always that _something_ in his eyes. That even after she's rebuffed his touches and refused to speak to him, he's still there.

She often thinks that the _something_ in David's eyes might be in hers as well.

"Well … you said you don't want to try again right now," she says slowly. "I mean … maybe let's … maybe we could talk about it in future. I suppose … if you think we _could_ do it … and if it happens then maybe I wouldn't … because I don't think I could get rid … you know?"

David nods even though she's quite sure nothing she said made any sense.

"One for the future, then."

She feels a pang of disappointment because even though she suggested it, maybe they shouldn't return to not talking about it.

But then David says, "But, you know, I think it's going to be OK. We _will_ be OK. After all, I've successfully stopped you from conquering the world, haven't I?"

"Wait, what? I thought you said I stopped _myself_ from doing it."

"But who knows what you'd have done without me, see."

She laughs. He takes her hand and, somehow, she finds herself believing that whatever decision they make, whatever discussion they do or don't have, whatever fears or doubts she has, maybe it will work.

After all, she thinks, remembering her discussion with Kai, she's really not that old yet.

* * *

Despite what he said, it's not as easy as he pretended, and they both know it.

And despite what they said, they have more conversations. None of them quite as intense as the one in the study, but still difficult. She tells him about the feeling of wool being stuffed into her senses when she realised she was having a miscarriage; he tells her about the nightmares he had for a week, about the not-fully formed body in the physician's arms. She talks about her sister's constant questions about her having children, and how that only freaks her out more because Anna will expect things from her and she can't deliver; he tells her about his father's letters, and the more vicious comments he makes in Burakoemin that's too rapid for Elsa to understand, and how he sometimes hopes they don't have children just to spite him. Sometimes, he wakes up and she's crying, and no amount of holding and whispers helps; sometimes, she finds him in the garden with the cloudberry bushes, shredding grass, and he knows she's silent because she doesn't know what words or actions could snap him out of it.

The days get easier though, and he thinks that counts for something. He tries to talk more, tries to ask more, and although he doesn't always judge it correctly, she answers. She's happier for him to touch her as well, and sometimes she does it of her own accord. He hasn't heard about a blankness in her expression or a dullness in her tone for days.

* * *

"E-Elsa?"

"Hmm?"

"I … I stole some chocol- wait! Let me try that again! I … _acquired_ some chocolate cake from, er, somewhere that is definitely not the kitchens, and I wondered if you'd, uh, like some?"

Elsa looks at her little sister and smiles. "It's funny you should say that," she says, "because I've also…" She coughs. "Also _acquired_ some chocolate cake from somewhere that is _also_ not the kitchens and was wondering if you wanted to share it with me?"

Anna beams.

* * *

There are many emotions that flit through Elsa in the days and weeks and months that follow that conversation with David, and many uncertainties that she has to deal with. There are days when the only thing she wants to do is hide under the covers, and there are days where she feels so remote, she may as well be back on the North Mountain.

But it seems a little easier to cope with. She and Anna slowly, but surely, find their rhythm together ("Pfft," Anna says late one night when Elsa points it out, "we went thirteen years without speaking and then I nearly killed everyone. One argument is nothing.") and although Anna never again asks if Elsa is thinking of children, sometimes Elsa asks her about raising children. Anna never questions it.

("But just so you know," she says one night, "if you ever _did_ have children, I'd totally be there to help. Someone's gotta be the life and soul of the party round here.")

David, as well, is always there, talking to her, laughing with her, helping her. They've both had days where they remember, or days where they struggle, but he's started to ask people to give him time to think. He's started to tell her more about his daily problems as well. Not in great detail – and rarely to other people – but he does it.

And at night, she'll often hold his hand as they drift off to sleep, and when he turns his head, she'll see that _something_ in his eyes and know that whatever it is they're doing, it's going to work.

* * *

(Her fears don't disappear and sometimes, she'll look at David and feel guilty.)

(But, sometimes, she sits on that roof and looks at the stars and thinks about an old man who isn't old yet, and how she doesn't hate him.)

(And, sometimes, she imagines.)

(She's happiest when she lets herself imagine.)

* * *

They are walking down the corridor when Anna sees that the nursery door is still open. She pauses. Elsa takes a few more steps before apparently realising that her sister has stopped walking.

"Hmm?"

"Elsa, why d'you still have the nursery? I mean, Niko's too old for it and you and David aren't … planning anything. I heard Gerda saying it could make a nice reception room."

"Because we don't have enough of _those_."

Anna grins. Recently, Elsa's mood has been sour, but she still makes dry comments every so often. "C'mon, why really? You've gotta admit, the colour scheme's pretty garish."

"I picked that myself!"

"I know, and it scares me."

Elsa pokes her tongue out at Anna, a remarkably infantile gesture. "I thought you'd like it – it's ten times more glaring than any normal person would like. Just your style, little sister."

"Har, har. You didn't answer the question."

There's a glimmer of a smile on Elsa's face as she says, "As a matter of fact, I intend to look in there later."

That throws Anna off guard. "How come?"

"I … think I have a use for it." She pauses. "I need to discuss it with David but I think he'll be happy."

"A use? Like what? Making another library?"

The smile is wider. "Not quite."

"Then what?" Seeing Elsa's smirk, she says, "C'mon, don't leave me in suspense. I'm only gonna be upset when it turns out you're making, I dunno, a gallery of your weird ice sculptures."

Elsa laughs now. "I'm impressed, Anna. I thought you'd have guessed by now. It's not as though you didn't spend years asking me about it."

And that's when it clicks. Elsa's weird mood. Looking at the nursery. Something to discuss with David.

Elsa seems so relaxed that Anna can hardly believe it, but she says it anyway.

"You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Elsa smiles, hands on stomach.

"Yes."

 _ **Fin**_


End file.
